


Owned

by veiledndarkness



Series: Submission [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: D/s undertones, M/M, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledndarkness/pseuds/veiledndarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fumbling forwards and unsure of anything, Shane's fighting himself and his desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The world's on fire it seems. The air is on fire and each breath scorches his lungs, ashy and burnt, an acrid plume of smoke that surrounds them, billowing up unendingly. The CDC is gone, a massive fireball in it's place, burning unchecked. There's no sirens wailing, no fire trucks to come racing over the blackened grass, just flames, raging and reaching up to lick at the sky.

Shane can feel the racing heartbeat beneath his fingers, the heave of the rib cage of the man he's clutching desperately to his chest. He's panting for air, anger and disbelief warring together. He can't move, his eyes wide as he watches the carnage unfold. Daryl's making little gasps, his breathing erratic while the ground trembles beneath them, shockwaves of explosions rocking the vehicles.

What's left of the CDC building is aflame, the world is on fire and Shane's neck still aches from the scratches that Lori left on him only hours before. He can't unclench his arms, he can't let go of Daryl even when he sees Rick's sheet white face emerge from the caravan, signalling for them to pull away before the flames come any closer.

The world's burning.

-

"This is pointless."

He's clenching and unclenching his fingers on the steering wheel, sweat dripping from his temples as he mutters under his breath. His gaze wanders to the rear view mirror, keeping a close eye on the old pickup behind his jeep, half expecting it to sputter to a halt at any second. He can see Daryl behind the wheel, one arm draped lazily out the window. If he squints, he can see the strap of black that bisects Daryl's neck.

His pulse flutters and he swallows, his throat dry. For a brief moment his annoyance is second to the little thrill of lust he feels when he sees the collar. He tries to say that he hates the collar but the flickers of arousal he feels tell another story.

The sun's high with barely a breeze to take the edge off the sweltering heat. His brain is melting, he's sure of it.

Rick's driving up ahead, Lori tucked in beside him. Shane flexes his fingers again and then swipes one hand over his head, pulling his ball cap off his sweat soaked hair. There's Carl, Sophia, and Carol in the backseat and he tries to imagine what they're talking about, what, if anything, Lori has to say. His skin crawls at the thought. 

Unwillingly, he drags his gaze away from Rick's car, glancing at the rear view mirror again until he sees Daryl. He breathes out, exhaling forcefully. Sometimes he thinks he's going insane, but then, maybe he's not. He hates that Lori won't talk to him, hates the look in her eyes when she meets his, that she won't let Carl near him, he hates that he was wrong when he left the hospital for the last time, and he's haunted by the idea of having to leave Rick helpless there. He hates Rick for forcing him to take...take _ownership_ of such a badly damaged man. He hates how he feels when Daryl kneels for him.

Fort Benning, a hundred miles from the direction they're heading, it's a fact that makes him grind his teeth together, dull anger coursing through him. Rick's so damn sure, so confident that the CDC is the way to go. The risk is too high in Shane's book, far too high.

"Ain't nothing worth this," he mumbles. His words catch in the wind, unheard by anyone.

Atlanta, home to over four hundred thousand people. Even if most of the population had heeded the original evacuation orders, he knows that still leaves a large amount behind. Couple that with the promises of refugee camps in the early days of the outbreak that would have led to a surge of panicked people flooding back into the city, and those were now dangerously bad odds. Then add the bombings that followed and now...God only knows what they'll be walking into. 

Dangerous isn't the word for it, he knows all this, Rick knows this. Atlanta now isn't what Rick remembers, Shane'll bet his last bullet on it.

-

The sun's setting when they pull up to the CDC, the building casting shadows against the silent city's background. It's unnerving, walking through the dead bodies that lie scattered and discarded across the still green grass, and it's dream like, watching the doors to the building open in a wash of alarmingly bright white light.

Rick's hoarse screams aimed at the video camera echo in Shane's ears. It mixes with the panicked cries of the kids behind them and both those sounds pale to the guttural moans and snarls of the undead staggering towards them. He thinks again that this was beyond stupid, driving into a death trap so willingly. 

He can feel his grip on Rick slipping, sweat slicked fingers nearly numb from the effort of trying to drag him away from the doors. Rick's all frantic strength and desperate determination and while he shouts for Rick to listen, man, just this once, that it's not too late, they can still make a try for the army base, he hears the clicks and hums of an electric lock unsealing and the doors part, ghostly light spilling out and illuminating them all.

He can't look away from the doors and his arms go slack, letting Rick loose from his grip. He can feel Daryl pressing in close to his left side, crossbow ready to unload at Shane's command and the thought winds through his mind, that he needs to protect Daryl from the unknown before them. There's danger here, he's sure of it. 

And he knows, Hell, of course he knows that Daryl doesn't need protecting, but it's his instinct, one that's served him since the dead started roaming through the streets. He's at his best when he has someone to care for. So now, as they file into the lobby, as they approach the startled man with an automatic that's approaching them as if they're ghosts, it's still his instinct to try and keep Daryl a step behind him.

He can hear him, hear his near silent exhales near his ear and as Rick negotiates with the man, agreeing to let the doctor take samples of their blood in exchange for safety, he focuses on the way Daryl presses in closer to him, crossbow still at the ready in his hands. There's a grounding sensation in the moment, a lick of calm in a steady wave of fear and unease.

This building isn't safe. It feels like a trap, one that they're happily marching into, and he grits his teeth as they enter the elevator, wishing unendingly that _someone_ would listen to him. How could a building, one this big, still have power, how long could the generators possibly run? 

His thoughts are derailed by the subtle touch of Daryl's right hand brushing the tips of his fingers, a worn, calloused hand just touching, hardly touching, in the crowded elevator, and with that tiny motion there's a small release of tension from his shoulders, drained away in an instant. Shane's there, breathing, and Daryl's hand is touching his, a moment of connection, even if they aren't looking at each other.

He doesn't pretend to understand why Daryl clings to what Merle taught him. He doesn't understand any of it, he's fumbling along in all honesty, struggling with the basics, and it's not like Daryl's all that forthcoming with what he wants. It's confusing and uncomfortable at best, but he knows how he feels when his fingers touch the collar, when Daryl kneels at his side, nuzzling against his leg.

The elevator pings open, distracting him anew. There's blood to be drawn, a price to pay for their supposed safety. Daryl squeezes the tips of his fingers once more before letting go, his gaze still focused on the floor. It's almost a surprise, the sense of loss he feels when Daryl lets go but before he can dwell on it, they're moving en masse, God knows how far underground, following this man blindly.


	2. Chapter 2

There's cheering, the clinking of glasses and it's almost like a party, a real swell celebration, complete with food, and for once there's no threat of Walkers. There's laughter and real smiles on everyone's faces and it's enough to make Shane want to spit. It's fake, it doesn't feel real and he can see shadows on Jenner's face that tell him that his instincts aren't far off.

The words are trapped behind his teeth, the growing demand to know just why Jenner's the only doctor left and he wants to shake Rick for acting like this is the salvation they've been looking for. His plate's mostly untouched but he hasn't let his glass go empty. This is infuriating and he wants to scream.

Daryl shifts slightly next to him, his eyes downcast. He's clearly uncomfortable in the chair, his fingers twitching every so often. His plate isn't faring much better than Shane's, and from the tight line of his lips, it's not for the same reason. Unhappiness be damned, he's not letting Daryl kneel here, not in front of this doctor. 

It churns in his gut, knowing that he's making Daryl unhappy, but he can't, he _can't_. There's no way he can explain it, and damn it, hadn't Daryl been making progress before they left the campgrounds? He sighs and rubs a hand over his face before taking a large gulp of his drink. 

Daryl glances at him from under his eyelashes, a look that's gauging Shane's mood, and fuck, that pisses him off. That's something he saw Daryl do with Merle countless times before and he'd bet it was a necessity long before they ever showed up in the camp. 

"G'on and eat," he mutters finally and Daryl sighs near silently, fiddling with the fork that's loosely clasped in his right hand, hesitating still. 

"Eat, damn it," Shane hisses at him as quietly as he can but he knows both Jenner and Rick heard him and he can feel Lori's gaze boring into his skull.

Daryl blinks once before dipping his head, his fingers gripping the fork awkwardly. He eats, slowly, carefully, and Shane watches in disbelief as Dale pours red wine into Carl's glass. This...this joking, this laughing, it's too much and the words come tumbling out. 

"When are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here?"

And there's Rick, leaning in over the table with that damned look on his face. "We're celebrating, Shane, no need to do this now."

"This is why we're here, right?" he can't keep the anger out of his voice or pull the flow of words back. "This was your move, supposed to find all the answers, 'stead we...well, we found this guy, this one guy."

Then Jenner starts to talk, tells them how a lot of the scientists left in the early days of the outbreak, how some...opted out...and he thinks of Jim, rattling and wheezing by the side of the road as the doctor tells them how he stayed on, hoping to find a cure and as he stops talking, the vibe in the room dulls. The air is heavy, stale even. 

He can feel the weight of unspoken accusation on his shoulders until Glenn gives a disgruntled sigh and utters, "Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man."

And with that, the party's done. Jenner offers to show them where they can get some rest, and he can feel Lori staring at him again as he forgoes the glass this time, grabbing the bottle of whiskey instead. He can see Daryl glancing at him and he swallows a mouthful of whiskey, feeling it burn as he tries to get it past the lump in his throat. It aches, but he doesn't care.

-

The water's perfectly warm. He can't remember his last heated shower and maybe he'd enjoy it more if he could keep his thoughts straight. He steps back under the spray and sighs before cracking one eye open. Daryl's off to the side of the shower stall, his gaze on the tiled floor. He's dressed still, clad in his faded, sleeveless plaid shirt, looking at the floor as if it's got the answers to all his problems. 

He's as dusty and sweaty as the rest of them, yet he hasn't put a toe near the water.

"Hey," Shane says, and Daryl's snapping to attention. "I really gotta tell you to get in the shower?"

Daryl shrugs a bit, shifting his weight. "Can wait," he mumbles into his chest. "Ain't that dirty."

"The Hell you say," Shane scoffs. He's holding the bottle of whiskey, taking another belt of it. "Get in."

There's a pause before Daryl lifts his gaze off the floor and he glances at Shane, brow wrinkling in confusion. "I...huh?"

He gestures to the shower stall, eyebrows raised. "Get in," he enunciates. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he's a touch dizzy from the booze, but that's secondary to the idea of sharing his shower. 

Daryl's blinking at him owlishly, bewildered. "Why?"

"Cause I'm tellin' ya to, that's why," Shane would be amused at the look on Daryl's face but he's lost in the memory of watching Daryl bathe at the camp, the way the water droplets had fallen down his tanned skin. There's a strong pulse of arousal coursing through him and he sets the bottle of whiskey down as he leans back against the tiled wall. 

Daryl's hands seem to move on autopilot at the command. He strips his shirt off, his pants, belt and boots tucked somewhat neatly off to the far side of the shower stall, away from the spray. He's naked but for the collar and Shane can't take his eyes off of him. He tilts his head, hungrily gazing at Daryl. 

"Yeah," he mutters, nodding. "S'right, get in here."

He's showered with women before, had some great times, but right now, not a single occasion comes to mind. He's entranced by the way Daryl steps into the generously sized cubicle, the way the dimmed lights overhead reflect on his wet skin, the flex of his muscled arms, the almost shy look to Daryl's face as he stands under the spray. The collar's starkly black against his skin, and it's got Shane's attention.

He remembers how much he hated the sight of it initially, and those days seem so long ago when he's got Daryl pushing up against him like this, testing, seeking affection, his head canted to the side and nuzzling into Shane's hand, seemingly starved for even this small gesture. He's dizzy, halfway to drunk and the feel of Daryl's warm, wet skin under his fingers is far more intoxicating than the alcohol he's been gulping. 

"Better now, yeah?" he whispers, bringing his left hand up to touch the collar, his heart beating a furious tattoo against his chest. He's vaguely aware of the blood pooling in his groin, of how hard and heavy his cock feels between his legs.

Daryl makes this sound, this needy purr that sends shivers down Shane's spine, and he rubs his cheek over the hand that's cupping him. "Please," he murmurs, nosing at Shane's fingers. He's nearly impossible to resist.

Shane doesn't understand why things like this drive him crazy, why the sight of Daryl kneeling makes his blood run hot most of the time, why touching the collar feels so damn _right_. He's not Merle, he doesn't enjoy controlling Daryl, though in moments like now when he can feel Daryl rutting against him eagerly, he thinks he might get why Merle might've done so.

"Look atcha," he says, affection bleeding into his tone. "I got you." 

And he does, he's got both hands gripping Daryl's arms, pushing him against the tiled wall and holding him there, neck exposed, inviting. He's touching the strip of leather around Daryl's neck, rubbing it with his thumb, his lips licking a scorching path over the tender skin above and below the collar, gratified by the soft moans he pulls from the man.

"Fuck," Shane's panting, breathless already, achingly hard. "The hell you do to me, I don't...God..." 

Daryl sucks the tip of Shane's index finger into his mouth, lapping at it as he peers up at him, his blue eyes so dark in the dim light. He tugs at the tip of Shane's finger, his tongue wrapping and curling around the digit hungrily and Shane can't wait a second longer before he's pushing and yanking Daryl down to his knees as the blood roars in his ears. 

"Ah, you tease," he hisses, knocking his head back against the tiles. He can't think, he can't _breathe_ and his mind is spinning. 

Daryl's right there, lips sucking him in perfectly, a look of absolute bliss on his face as he sucks, working his tongue and lips, his fingers gripping and stroking the insides of Shane's thighs. It's overwhelming and Shane's trembling all over, his quick breaths echoing off the tiles. 

The water streams over both of them, endless wet warmth, but it's nothing compared to the perfectly hot, wet heat that's wrapped around his cock. He's got one hand buried in Daryl's hair and his hips are stuttering in short movements. He can't stay still and he moans loudly as Daryl snakes that wicked tongue of his up and over, dipping and flicking the tip of his cock, a move that's sending him dangerously close to the edge. 

"Fuck....ah, fuck!" he curses, his chest heaving for air. His skin prickles and he's gasping as Daryl cups him, gently tugging on his sac and as he feels himself slide deeper into Daryl's waiting, willing throat, he lets go of Daryl's hair and crosses his arms behind his own head, fighting for control. 

It's too much, it's deliciously good and he's trembling harder, flexing his calves and gripping his hair as Daryl swallows around him, throat constricting tightly, milking his cock, his fingers tugging, pulling, and then Shane's coming with a hoarse shout, his eyes closing against his will, his back arching, coming in hard, heavy pulses as he floods Daryl's needy mouth.

"Ah God, oh fuck!" Shane slumps back, his heart beating triple time and he's never felt so throughly fucked as he does right then. "Mm, c'mere, c'mon," he manages, tugging at Daryl's shoulders, urging him up. 

Daryl rests against him pliantly. Shane can't look away from the way Daryl's lazily licking at his swollen, reddened lips and he leans in, tipping Daryl's chin up so he can kiss him, relishing in the low moan that comes from Daryl as their lips meet. He traces his tongue over Daryl's bottom lip, tasting bitter salt and he's caught off guard by the way his heart pounds anew. There's affection and a desperate need to reciprocate building inside him. 

"So damn good, you're so good," he says as he runs his hands down Daryl's back, feeling the light flex of muscles as he's stroked, skimming over the scars carefully. He's touching, turning Daryl to rest his back to Shane's chest, his hands stroking and moving down Daryl's chest, listening to the tiny sounds Daryl makes as he touches him. 

It's only when Shane's hand skims beneath Daryl's belly button that he feels the man tense up and he knows that Daryl's unsure, that he's almost timid about receiving, even when he's clearly aroused. "Shh, shh, s'alright," he croons in Daryl's ear, his lips and tongue tugging on the bottom of his earlobe. "You gonna be my good boy, right? Gonna let me make you feel good, uh huh?"

Daryl's nodding shakily, his mouth moving soundlessly. "Uh..." he tries to speak, to give his consent but he's trembling now, watching as Shane grips him at the base of his cock, holding him snugly. "Pl...please," he gasps out, pre-come beading at the tip. 

"That's right," Shame hums in approval as he moves his fist, stroking Daryl from root to tip, one slow stroke after another, gripping him just so. "Wanna hear you," he adds, smiling at the way Daryl's breath catches, at the way he shudders and rocks his hips with Shane's movements.

"Uhh," Daryl moans, twisting and rocking back faster in Shane's arms, gripping at them for balance. He's got his eyes scrunched shut, his mouth is open and he's gasping for air, unable to stay still as Shane fists his cock, his thumb smearing the steady drips of pre-come that leak out.

"Such a good boy," Shane whispers again and he doesn't know where the words are coming from but they flow from him as he mouths and sucks little marks onto Daryl's neck, decorating his skin. He licks and tugs at the collar, nipping the skin around it. "My good boy, you wanna come, don'tcha? Look at you, can't wait to come. That's right, you jus' do it right now, g'on and do it, you come on my hand, boy."

Daryl gasps and then he's coming with a choked off wail, writhing helplessly in Shane's grip as he comes, his hips thrusting into the air, his whole body arching upwards. "Ahh, ahhh..." he moans before flopping back against Shane bonelessly.

"Shh, s'ok, that's it," Shane's stroking his face with his free hand. He can't take his eyes off the come that's streaming down his fingers, rinsing away with the slowly cooling water. He presses an almost chaste kiss to Daryl's temple as he opens his hand and lets the last bit of come run off his skin. 

Daryl's still panting a bit, his body trembling from the release. He cranes his head and peers up at Shane, like he's testing to see if everything's ok, like maybe Shane's gonna sober up any second now. 

"Don't do that, man," Shane sighs. He reaches for the shampoo dispenser and pushes the nozzle until he has enough to fill half his palm. "I told ya before, I ain't like him. Don't you know that by now?"

Daryl doesn't say anything but the tension in his body eases a little.

Shane starts to speak, then thinks better of it, silently washing Daryl's hair, rubbing his fingers in slow circles over his scalp. Daryl's putty in his arms, resting against his chest. He washes his own hair then and by the time he shuts the water off, he feels cleaner than he has in months. He hands Daryl a towel, watching him dry off. 

There's red marks all along his neck and his collar stands out even more against his now clean skin. Some of the marks are deepening and Shane thinks one might end up being a spectacular hickey. A wash of possessiveness flows through him and his blood hums in approval. 

"You uh, you alright?" he asks as he scoops up his until then forgotten bottle of whiskey. He feels almost guilty but he's not sure why. 

Daryl blinks at him as he tugs his shorts back on. His lips quirk slightly, almost a smile, and he nods once. It's as good an answer as Shane can hope to get. He's dressed again, patiently waiting for Shane to finish as well.

-

It's a comfortable silence as they walk down the hall to where the rooms with the cots are, and Shane can hear distant splashing sounds coming from the different shower rooms. Colour lights his face as he realizes that someone might've overheard them, but he pushes the thought away forcefully. He's not keen to explain, not when he hardly understands this to begin with.

They're at the door where they'd dropped their supplies before the shower and Shane scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, feeling for all the world that's he's dropping off a date. Daryl's pressed in close again, his hand brushing against Shane's. 

"We oughta get some sleep," Shane says. There's footsteps not far away, but they're not important. Daryl's nodding, his hand cupping Shane's briefly, and then before he can second guess the urge, Shane pulls Daryl in for a quick, fierce kiss that leaves his lips tingling and his eyes half closed with the simple pleasure of it.

As the kiss ends, he rests his forehead to Daryl's, breathing him in. He feels calm for once.

It's the stifled gasp, the intake of stunned breath that breaks that calm and Shane rues the lost moment when he feels Daryl tense up, when he sees Lori's slim body only a few feet away out of the corner of his eye. She's staring, eyes so wide that he thinks they might fall out of her head, one hand half covering her mouth. She's clasping a glass of wine that's tipping precariously now, forgotten in her other hand.

There's no doubt in his mind that she saw them kissing. He hates that part of him is embarrassed. He's...it's not that he's ashamed, he's just...he can't look away from Lori and he remembers how she used to look under him in the woods, the way she moaned his name, and his head aches all over again.

"I..." she's shaking her head, eyes too wide, and it's then that she sees the marks on Daryl's neck. He's staring at the ground but there's a defiant jut to his chin. "Sorry, I'm, um..." 

Shane feels a lick of anger run through him, a flare of raw anger and frustration. He looks away from Lori and tips Daryl's chin up with two fingers, forcing him to meet Shane's eyes. "You wanna get them cots set up? I'll be right in."

Daryl doesn't say anything, he doesn't blink, and he doesn't move for a long moment. There's a myriad of emotions racing across his face before there's a glimpse of hurt resignation visible for a mere second. Then, finally, almost sadly, he turns and opens the door to the room, slipping inside. Shane exhales slowly, fighting to stay calm as he turns back to face Lori. 

"I'm gonna tell you a few things," he says through lightly clenched teeth. "And you're gonna listen."

-


	3. Chapter 3

-

"I'm gonna tell you a few things and you're gonna listen to me."

Lori's watching him, wide eyed, and poised like she's about to bolt away. She's dressed for bed in a loose nightgown and shorts and he remembers peeling that nightgown off her once before. The hand holding her wine glass is trembling and she shakes her head, finding her voice at last. "Now is not the time," she gets out, her voice strained. "Clearly."

"Don't, don't you do that," Shane can't believe this, he can't even deal with this right now. He's awkwardly aware that his shirt is still unbuttoned and hanging open to his waist. He feels exposed. He's got Daryl in the room behind him, the door's shut, though he's not sure how soundproof it is, and he can feel how tense his whole body is, the pleasure from the shower gone in the blink of an eye. 

"You don't got the right to stand there and...and judge like that."

She's blinking and tossing her hair back, heat flushing into her face. "Really? Because I know what I saw and obviously you've got your hands full. Spare me your excuses, Shane, I've heard enough of them from you lately."

Oh, by God, he's never hit a woman before but his hand's itching to slap that self righteous anger off her face. 

"How...how can you treat me like this?" he's moving before he can stop himself, pushing into her personal space. He's infuriated and he drops the forgotten until then bottle of whiskey to the ground. He barely hears the dull thud of it on the floor. "After all I did for you? For Carl?"

"You're kidding, right?" she takes a step back, nearing the closest open doorway. "You told me that my husband was dead!"

"I didn't lie to you!" he shouts and he's following her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. "I didn't! You were not there, you did not see what I saw. It was a massacre, they were slaughtering people left and right! There were Walkers everywhere. Damn it, Lori, stop an' listen to me."

She narrows her eyes at him even as she takes another step back. The wine glass tumbles from her fingers, falling noiselessly to the carpet. "So you left him there? Alone?"

"Everybody else ran!" he can't control his hands, he's grabbing at her, trying to make her stay in place. He's shaking, so full of anger that he can't focus, the burn of alcohol still lining his throat. "There were no doctors, there was no one left, it was just me, he was hooked up to all those machines, and...and I did not know what to do."

Lori scoffs and shoves back at him, panic beginning to gleam in her eyes.

"Listen to me!" he pleads, his voice breaking. He's struggling to hold her as she backs into the nearby table. She's gripping at his arms, her nails beginning to dig in. "I put my ear to his chest and I did not hear a heartbeat. I don't know if it was the gunfire in the hall, I don't know but I tried, Lori, I tried to save him, I couldn't! It killed me to leave him, don't you act like I didn't care!"

"It's still a lie," she hisses at him, digging her fingernails in harder. "Let go of me, right now!"

"I didn't wanna leave him, I swear it. I'd have given anything to trade places with him! I had you and Carl to think of. I owed it to Rick to get you guys safely to Atlanta. You wouldn't have come with, you know it. I couldn't...I couldn't leave you guys behind like that. Lori, stop an' look at me! I did what I had to."

"Get off of me, God, you reek of whiskey! You're drunk, Shane!" she's kicking at him and he knows he should let go, but his hands aren't listening. "Go back to whatever the hell you were doing with...with _him_."

He sees red. He's nearly sick with fury at the look on her face, at the disdain he can see. That's it, that's the tipping point and he's giving her one good shake, his face dark with rage. "You shut up, Lori, you shut your mouth! You don't know the first thing about...about me an' him, so you just shut up! It ain't your business!"

"I saw you touching him," Lori spits at him. "I saw those marks all over him! He's still wearing that...that _collar_! You're treating him like a dog, like some...some kind of slave. You're no better than Merle, Shane!" 

There's a flash of pain as she manages to free her arm from Shane's grip and she's digging her fingers into his neck, ripping at him with a desperate strength. He can't believe it for an endless second, can't believe that she attacked him. He drops his hands away from her, stunned.

They stare at each other and he swallows heavily, horrified but still so fucking angry.

"I..." Shane raises his hand and touches the side of his neck. His skin aches and he blinks, abruptly disgusted with himself for pushing at her like this. "I'm sorry...I wasn't, I wouldn't..."

Her throat works silently like she's shocked by what happened too. She covers her face with both hands, tugging at her hair. She hitches in a tear filled breath, shoulders shaking, and he backs away from her, his heart pounding. They don't speak as he leaves, nearly tripping over his bottle. 

-

He's standing outside the door, leaning against the frame of it as he tries to calm down. He can't think straight, he's so full of barely banked rage and frustration. He fists his hands and then uncurls them, deeply ashamed that he's frightened Lori in such a way, that he's put his hands on her like that. He lets out a breath and closes his eyes, shuddering. 

There's muted sounds coming from within the room, small thuds and squeaks. Daryl's waiting and Shane's dreading the moment he has to go in to the room. He's hit with a wave of exhaustion, of weariness that runs bone deep.

He can hear the gunfire from that day still, that goddamned day, and he remembers it constantly. It chafes at him, an endless wave of guilt, and he remembers how the weight of Rick's body had felt in his arms, how he'd damn near cried when the realization had sunk in that he wouldn't be able to save his best friend, not this time. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard, and to have her treat him like this is too much to endure.

Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Shane pushes the door open and he sees Daryl waiting by the cots, in the middle of spreading out a thin blanket over the metal frame. Daryl's glancing at him and in a heartbeat, he's kneeling with his head down, sinking gracefully to the floor.

"Don't, man, jus' don't," he tries to say but the words won't come out right. Instead, he lets out a harsh sound, one filled with regret and hurt. 

Daryl's looking up at him carefully and Shane knows he's got a shitty poker face, always has, and he can't hide all this. He's not sure he even wants to try. He drops down onto the cot, exhausted to the core.

"I...sorry," he murmurs, resting his head in his hands. "She's...she's angry, y'know?"

Daryl leans in, resting his head to the side of Shane's knee. He makes a sound, this soft, mournful sound and Shane understands that there's times when Daryl prefers not to speak, so he drops one of his hands to Daryl's head, smoothing the damp strands back on reflex. It's calming for both of them to do this and he lets out another shuddery breath. 

"She doesn't believe me," he says and he chuckles bitterly. "Ain't that something? She thinks I left him on purpose. I...I tried, I swear on everything, I did. I thought he was dead or that he was gonna be. The power went down while I was there...all those machines that kept him alive..." 

He wipes one hand over his mouth and he thinks he might cry or scream. Daryl's rubbing his cheek against Shane's knee, trying to comfort him somehow. He tugs Shane's hand from his hair tentatively and brings his fingers down to his neck, letting Shane touch the collar.

There's the flicker of arousal that he always feels when he touches the collar and he thinks absently that Daryl must understand that touching it centres him, and there's the flutter in his stomach as he strokes the supple leather that's almost always as warm as Daryl's skin. It's soothing and he sighs heavily, feeling the clasp on the collar with the edge of his ring finger. 

"It's all so fucked," he mutters, mostly to himself. "She hates me. Hell, I kinda hate me too."

Daryl nudges at his knee, making that little mournful sound again. He stares up at Shane, a look of yearning on his scrubbed clean face. Shane reaches for him, lifting Daryl up a bit, up and onto the cot with him and it's the sharp hiss of displeasure that has him remembering the scratches lining his neck.

"It's, it's nothin'," he says, batting Daryl's hand away. "M'fine."

Daryl's nothing if not persistent, and he's tracing the deep gouges with one finger, anger marring his face. There's a softer sound, almost a low growl and Shane's still learning all this but he'd bet anything that it means displeasure. Daryl's butting his head under Shane's chin, his fingers hovering below the superficial wounds.

"Hey now, don't be like that," Shane chides him gently. "Lemme tell you, I probably deserved worse. It's not that bad, it only looks bad, a'right?"

Daryl huffs, clearly unimpressed. He settles for resting against Shane's bare chest, his thumb stroking the chain necklace that he's wearing, tracing the silver 22 that sits there. Shane lets his eyes drift shut and he's listening to Daryl's steady breaths. His neck stings still.

They sit in silence for some time before Shane yawns widely enough to crack his jaw. "Really oughta get some sleep," he says, reluctantly letting go of Daryl. He's loathe to admit it but the endless anger and noise in his mind calms when he's touching him.

Daryl hums under his breath and slips away to the cot that's beside Shane's. He curls up tightly, watching as Shane turns off the lights and as Shane turns to sit back down on his own cot, he stops and pulls the blanket from the end of the makeshift bed, draping it over Daryl.

"Go t' sleep," he says in a throaty whisper as he stretches out on his cot. This day has been endless and he's so tired. Before he can linger on the earlier events, he's drifting off to sleep, only vaguely aware of Daryl's hand brushing over his own again.

-

The morning doesn't bring any new clarity. There's a dull throb between his temples and even the dim light of the room is offensive to his hangover. Daryl's careful in a manner that gets on his nerves nonetheless, all but tiptoeing around him.

His skull throbs and he doesn't want to move off the cot, lest he startle the clanging hammers in his head. He doesn't feel rested, he's tense, wired so tightly that his teeth are grinding together in between the pulses of pain between his temples. He can hear people moving about in the adjoining rooms, hear Daryl's whisper soft exhales and he can't stop his fingers from grazing over the dried scratches on his neck. His stomach lurches at the contact and it's sheer willpower keeping him from giving in to the urge to retch.

Daryl's watching from under his eyelashes, observing Shane closely. He's biting down on his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth. Shane's too tired to parse out the look on Daryl's face. He sighs and shifts carefully on the cot, swinging his legs up and off the frame with measured movements.

"Stop worrying so damn much," he grumbles, settling his head in his hands. 

There's no answer but he's not expecting one. He doesn't understand Daryl's loyalty or his desire to remain so...so _submissive_ like this, to someone like himself. Shane's a poor stand in for Merle, even if he feels sure that Merle didn't do a proper job of training his brother. He scowls at the thought.

There's a quiet gurgling coming from the man across from him and he lifts his head, his annoyance slipping away at the sound. Daryl's staring at the floor, a sheepish cast to his face, as if he's embarrassed that his stomach gave him away.

"C'mon," Shane's up and moving though his head protests the fast movement. "Gonna find somethin' for breakfast."

Daryl slides off his cot and moves to Shane's side, peering up at him briefly. His lips twitch into a concerned frown and the care, the worry that's evident on his face unsettles something in Shane's chest. He doesn't think about it, he just leans in, brushing the lightest of kisses over Daryl's forehead. 

It's easier if he doesn't think about it.

-


	4. Chapter 4

-

Breakfast is a quiet affair. There's levels of hangovers happening all around them, from Glenn groaning that he's never, ever, drinking again, to Andrea's pale skin and red-rimmed eyes, to the pounding in Shane's skull. T-Dog's serving powdered eggs, there's Dale watching Andrea far too closely, and Lori's handing Rick some aspirin. She won't meet his gaze.

He's not hungry. Just the thought of eating is nauseating. Daryl's at his side, a fork grasped in his hand tautly. It looks like a weapon. At Shane's silent nod, he pokes at the plate of eggs, eating slowly.

Rick looks as hungover as the rest of them and Shane remembers the first time they snuck into his dad's liquor cabinet, remembers the way they'd belted back shots of stolen whiskey in the field behind his house and pretended that the alcohol hadn't scorched like wildfire down their throats. They'd felt so grown up, so proud of their hangovers. It feels like a million years ago.

T-Dog's startled voice cuts through his memory, jarring him back to reality. "The hell happened to your neck?"

He feels his skin prickle, the weight of everyone's stares on him. "Musta done it in my sleep," he mutters finally. 

"That's not like you," Rick frowns and Shane feels his anger roar anew. Rick doesn't know, he doesn't and Shane won't tell him, God, never if he can help it. He wants to throw something and his skin just crawls at the way Lori's darting those nervous glances at him now.

No, it's not like him at all, but he's not even sure who he is anymore. He's bitterly ashamed of it all and he wishes like hell that he could wake up from all of this. He can see Daryl out of the corner of his eye, staring down at his plate, silent and unmoving except for the muscle in his jaw clenching. He won't say anything about last night, Shane knows that, even though he'd hissed with displeasure to see the livid scratches then, growling while he traced them.

He's about to nudge Daryl to finish eating when Jenner strolls into the room and Dale starts with the questions, diverting attention from Shane's neck. He's grateful for the change of topic when Andrea echoes his unspoken sentiments. They aren't here to pretend like the end of the world hasn't occurred and the walk to the computer room confirms that.

-

Staring up at the screen, it's captivating to see what the inside of a mind could hold. He's bringing up the rear as the video plays and it's almost natural to sidle up close to Daryl who looks bewildered by the screen in front of them, his arms crossed over his chest protectively. There's questions in the man's eyes but he says nothing as Jenner speaks, weaving the story of test subject 19, the person that had been bitten and who'd volunteered to be scanned through death and reanimation.

_"Anything you ever were or ever will be...gone..."_

His throat is dry and for the moment, his hangover is forgotten. None of them can look away as the lights, the synapses in the brain fade away, leaving nothing but a shell behind, nothing but a mindless animal that's up and moving without being sure why. There's new nausea churning in his gut and Jenner's still fucking talking, it's the end of the world, this really is it, and he would laugh if he was sure that he wouldn't end up screaming.

He takes a step back and sits in the closest chair, rubbing his hand over his mouth. Daryl's shifting uneasily from one side to the other, a distressed hunch to his shoulders. The air's choking them all and he can feel his skin crawling when the artificial intelligence utters the words _facility wide decontamination_ , Jenner's footsteps echoing on the smoothly tiled floors all the while.

And then the bastard's walking out, leaving them in the semi darkness with nothing to go on. 

-

It's unspoken, the sudden rush to the basement. Rick's running down the stairs, T-Dog and Glenn behind Shane, they need to see, to see if Jenner's off his meds, to see if it's really true, that the building's nearly out of fuel. There's nothing but empty containers waiting for them, mockingly empty, and the lights are dimming as they run back, as they collide with the rest of the group, Jenner leading the way back into that circular room with the damned clock counting them down. 

Dale's shouting questions and Jenner's gulping down whiskey and it's true, the power grid is down, their world runs on fossil fuels, and he's taking two big steps towards Jenner before Rick's yanking him back and barking demands that they grab their things and leave before it's too late.

The alarms are blaring and the countdown to thirty minutes has begun. The doors are sealing them in, and it's as if there's a knife to his throat when it hits home that they are locked in. They're trapped and he hears the growl before he sees the movement of Daryl out of the corner of his eye, a wild rage on Daryl's face that he saw not long ago when he'd heard of his brother's death. He's a caged animal, snarling and screaming without words as he launches himself toward Jenner and Shane dimly hears Rick calling his name as he moves, catching Daryl around the middle and hauling him back with all his strength. 

T-Dog's there, yanking on Daryl's side as the man growls and struggles in their grip, pure fury that's desperate to be loose and Shane can't recall a time when he's seen Daryl so angry. He staggers back, grunting under the strain of holding him back, lifting him up off the ground to get him away from Jenner.

"Calm down," he hisses, setting Daryl down off to the side. They're both panting and Daryl's this side of feral, his eyes slitted nearly shut, but he still ducks his head in acknowledgement, pacing back and forth on the spot uncontrollably.

The phrase _high-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives_ comes and he can see it occur so vividly in his mind, and as Jenner whispers that the explosives set the air on fire, he feels the fury rocket up his own spine. Like hell he's going down in flames like this, not here, not now and he's moving, grabbing the axe from beside the fire extinguisher on the nearest wall, and swinging at the sealed door, Daryl running up beside him with another axe.

They take turns beating at the door, the banging of the axes drowning out the terror behind them and it doesn't matter that the doors are meant to withstand a rocket launcher, not at all, he's not going to sit down and...and opt out. Not like this. 

Daryl whirls about as Jenner speaks and he's running again, axe in hand, bringing it towards Jenner's head with deadly aim. Shane just manages to catch him, his fingers sliding around Daryl's waist and snagging in the worn material of his shirt. He can hardly breathe for the fear and anger and frustration warring throughout his body. 

"No!" He shouts, hauling Daryl back and his muscles strain to hold the screaming man bucking against him. "Damn it, Daryl, I said no!"

Daryl sags for the briefest moment, his chest hitching unevenly. He's dripping sweat and making these little noises under his breath, these hurt, frightened sounds masked by the raw screaming seconds ago. He's terrified, has been since the word fire came about. Shane gives him a rough squeeze before releasing him, his palms slicked with sweat.

"...Last night you said it was just a matter of time before everybody you loved was dead," Jenner's speaking to Rick, so placidly calm that it's disturbingly funny. 

Shane's staring at him. He can't believe his ears, not at all. He licks his lips and Rick can't meet his eyes. Son of a bitch, he fumes and shakes his head, keeping Daryl in his line of sight all the while. He half expects him to start howling.

"You really said that? After all your big talk?" He can't help it, the accusation in his voice. If Rick had just _listened_ to him in the first place, they'd be halfway to Fort Benning, and now...now they're trapped underground and waiting for a fireball to swallow them whole.

He can't breathe, he can't swallow over the angry lump in his throat and he's shaking like a leaf, picking up his automatic and pushing it right into Jenner's face, a horrible, frothing anger raging in him. He can hear Rick shouting his name but it's a faint echo over the blood thundering in his ears.

"You open that door or I'm gonna blow your head off, do you hear me?!"

He's screaming, he can hear Rick doing his best to talk him down and Lori's in the background, telling him to listen to Rick, and he can feel his finger pushing down on the trigger, it would be so damn easy, wouldn't it, he could fire a bullet right through the doctor's forehead...when there's a light pressure to his arm and he sees a flash of smooth black around Daryl's neck as he pushes in close, distracting him, and that's all Rick needs before he's wrestling Shane down and away, yanking the weapon from his hands. 

There's guilt on Daryl's face, like he knows he sided with Rick, an anxious guilt under the naked fear, and that's enough to have him breathe out a ragged breath, to let Rick take over and reason with the doctor.

He's up, staggering a little on his feet, and he's a bit punch drunk with adrenaline for a moment. The clock's still ticking down, the kids are whimpering nearby, and he wants to break something as Rick begs Jenner for the chance to keep going. 

The sound of the door opening is sweeter than angels singing, the hallway beckoning them forward. It's all autopilot, grabbing the bag of guns, and he doesn't need to check where Daryl is, not when the clock's ticking down in the last minutes. Through the haze of desperate fear, through his pulling T-Dog away from Jacqui, who's determined to stay, and the raw panic in everyone's eyes, he swears he can feel the heat already rising in the building, as if the flames are emerging already.

And they're running for the entrance, to the sealed doors. There's no time for a plan, they're just attacking the glass manically, striking at the windows. It's Carol who presses the grenade into Rick's hand, her voice shaking as badly as her hands. There's seconds, precious few seconds before they're dropping to the floor and Shane's never heard anything sweeter than the sound of glass breaking as the grenade explodes. 

They're up, they're moving across ridiculously green grass and the sun is shining down merrily, like it's any other summer day, never mind the bodies that are strewn everywhere. It's a blur, a terrifying blur as the dull roar begins to build and the fireball explodes up and out of the CDC.

Daryl's in his arms, and Shane can't pull in a proper breath as they crouch back from the blast wave that rockets over the area surrounding them. Daryl's pressed tightly against Shane's chest, panting quietly, and Shane just...he can't believe this. It's awful and amazing and he can't look away from the fire.

He rests his head to Daryl's, watching the flames climb higher until he sees Rick emerge from the caravan, gesturing to them all as the fire devours the grass, creeping closer. 

It's time to go.

-


	5. Chapter 5

-

Atlanta's quiet in the aftermath of the CDC. The fire is likely still raging, still consuming and burning endlessly, and the plumes of blackened smoke from it hover over the city, casting a gloomy shadow that tries to block out the sun. The city is silent, decaying day by day.

There's scorch marks and half melted corpses on the pavement, the charred evidence of the napalm that had been dropped during those frantic early days. The streets are littered with bloodied bodies and crashed cars. Garbage drifts in the warm breeze, newspapers and plastic bags that collect along the gutters and rustle over the sidewalks, the last traces of a normal day before it all crashed.

The city is dead.

-

The decision to reduce their number of vehicles is simple. Gas is as precious as water now, a far too valuable commodity to waste on a convoy. Shane parks his jeep while the bags and their rapidly dwindling supplies are sorted, and he can't help but let his gaze linger on Rick and Lori as they speak to each other, heads bent in close. There's a mess churning in his belly, a mix of jealous longing and dull anger. He grinds his teeth and swallows the bitterness that seems to line his throat each day.

He hates how it feels, the way he's unraveling like this, and he's nearly sick with it, but in between the pulses of guilt and rage, he tries to remember what it all felt like before the world went to shit, what it felt like to not want to scream every time he opens his mouth.

They've decided on Carol's Cherokee, and the R.V., but there's still some debate over T-Dog's church van and Daryl's pick up. The van can hold more in the way of supplies but the gas required is too much of a strain. The same could be said for the pick up, except for the large motorcycle strapped to the bed of it. 

Rick's eyeing the motorcycle and Shane's less than surprised when he walks over to the jeep, hands on his hips, eyes squinted in thought. "Don't think we got enough to take the van, much less the truck."

Shane nods, following his gaze. Daryl's rifling through one of the canvas satchels in the back of the pick up, sorting what looks like pill bottles from a distance. He's absorbed in his task, but Shane knows all too well that Daryl's fully alert, aware of everything going on around him. He scrubs a hand through his sweat damp hair, smoothing his fingers back down his neck. He can't fully explain the pulse in his chest that he gets when Daryl darts a glance at him, but it makes the ache there ease, even if only for a moment.

"Yeah," he grunts. "Hardly got enough as it is."

"Tell him," Rick says, but he's not really asking. "We just can't spare it."

And with that, Daryl's looking over at them expectantly, like he knows he's the topic of their conversation. He sets the satchel down and gives Shane a sideways glance, asking silently if he's needed for something, anything at all.

Shane sighs through his teeth and leans back on his jeep. "C'mon," he nods once, gesturing to his side as Rick shifts a few feet to the left, giving them the illusion of privacy.

Daryl's up and off the pick up, moving to the side of the jeep. He stops in front of Shane and gives him another little glance, seemingly testing if he's still allowed to look Shane in the eyes. He meets his gaze for a half second before staring down at the ground. 

"Look, man, we can't bring your truck with us. Jus' ain't got the gas to spare."

There's no easy way to explain except for the blunt truth, but the last thing he expects is for Daryl to flinch like he's been struck, his shoulders hunching up protectively. He's got the corner of his lip snagged between his teeth, like it'll hold back the strangled whimper that's building in his chest.

"I..." Shane looks to Rick helplessly and both men are stunned to see Daryl drop to his knees out of the blue, to see him rest his head to Shane's calf. "C'mon now, I...we don't got 'nough gas is all. It'll be easier this way. We ain't taking the van either. C'mon Daryl, get up."

He's aware that his tone is on the verge of pleading and that everyone's giving up on pretending that they aren't watching. He can see the tiny tremble to Daryl's shoulders, the way he's struggling to hold still. With a wild stab in the dark, Shane crouches down, bringing his hands to Daryl's arms. He grips him firmly, feeling the tensed muscles flutter beneath his fingers.

"You don't...Daryl, you know you're comin' with, don't you?"

Daryl shifts his head, peering at him warily. He lets out a whispery breath, almost a huff of air. 

"Jesus fuck," Shane mutters and Lord, how guilty does he feel now. "I ain't leaving you. We aren't leaving you here. It's the truck, man, it takes too much gas. You can ride in the R.V., got it?"

And it's that look of clarity to Daryl's face that tells him he was right in his guess. He looks at the bike, then to Shane, and there's so much hope, fear and longing in those baby blues that Shane can't help the little tug in his gut that makes him want to say yes so damn bad. 

He rubs his thumb over the buckle of the collar around Daryl's neck, and his lips quirk into a crooked smile. "I guess so. Go get it ready, we gotta be goin'."

Daryl nuzzles his cheek into Shane's hand, nipping the tip of his thumb with a brush of his mouth and a hint of teeth. There's gratitude etched into his face, relief and reassurance visible.

Shane nods silently to the motorcycle and Daryl's up and moving in that fluid way of his, graceful somehow in even the smallest of movements. Rick clears his throat as Daryl walks away and Shane can feel his face heating up all the more. 

"S'no harm letting him have it," he says and he can hear the defensive tone to his words. "Takes less gas after all."

Rick makes a 'hmm' sound and bobs his head, watching Daryl undo the straps in the truck bed. "Noisier though," he murmurs, "Could be a problem down the road."

Annoyance flickers and Shane opens and closes one hand, digging his nails into his palm. He needs to calm down. "What was I gonna say? I tell him no, s'like kicking a stray dog into the gutter. The bike isn't gonna be any noisier than the damn R.V."

Rick's watching Shane, thoughtful concern and ill concealed worry lines around his eyes. Shane forces a neutral smile and digs his fingernails into his palm with a fierceness that startles him. His palm aches, his fingernails gouging deep crescents into his skin.

"I guess you're right," Rick concedes. The sun's beaming down on them and Shane can't keep looking at Rick, not now, not when he can still feel hateful words clamouring on his tongue. "He can scout ahead, get in easier than we can with the R.V."

"Yeah," he nods and unclenches his cramped fingers. He's breathing in slow drags and the sour tang coating his throat has never been more bitter. He can't put it into words, this blazing anger at Rick, he's so damn _tired_ of feeling like he's a hair's breadth away from attacking the man he's cared about since the first day they'd met.

It's exhausting, the noise in his head. 

Rick spares him another long glance and sighs a little, almost under his breath. He looks as tired as Shane feels, shaken and pale, and it's too close to how he'd looked lying in that hospital bed, faded and washed out despite the wealth of sunshine that's haloed around them now.

"Are you alright?" 

He wants to reassure him, wants to crack a smile like the good ol' days of burgers and fries on patrol, wants to sling his arm around Rick's shoulders and tell him that he's fine, he's just fine, brother, but he can't, and the distance between them is a salt filled wound. 

"Yeah," he lies, and his lips try to curve, try to smile, but it's a sorry imitation of his old smart assed grin. "Yeah man, I'm good. Let's uh, let's get a move on, huh? Can't stand around like we got all day."

Rick doesn't look all that reassured, but maybe he wants to believe him because he nods and tucks his hands back onto his hips, loosely now. He murmurs agreement and strides back over to the R.V., speaking to Dale and pouring over the map that Glenn's unfolding on the hood of the vehicle. 

His palm aches and his stomach is churning and he feels hollowed out as he grabs his duffel bag and hat, adding them to the pile of things to be loaded in the R.V. Time's short and the city is wearing on them all, and while their luck has held out so far, the risk of Walkers is ever present.

-

Daryl's ahead of the R.V., cruising along the open road and Shane can't look away from the way Daryl sits, his thighs snugly gripping the metal frame beneath him. He's clearly at ease, his body swaying and dipping with the subtle motions of the motorcycle, years of practice evident in the way he moves. 

He can't look away from the way the sun glints off the metal frame, the way Daryl leans to manipulate the motorcycle, and he has the sudden sharp thought that there was likely only one person who could have shown him how to ride in such a manner. The new jealousy that sparks in his chest is jaggedly sharp, catching him off guard by the wash of hatred he feels for the late Merle Dixon. 

He can see it in one long blink and he's grinding his teeth, trying not to linger on the images, of the thought of Daryl grasping at Merle for balance, a young baby faced Daryl with the coltish, gangly limbs of youth, gripping his older brother and pressing in close, seeking affection in any manner available. He's enraged by the idea, enough so that his fingers spasm, curling tightly along the fold down table of the R.V. and drawing the attention of Andrea who's studiously taking apart her gun.

She's slow with the pieces, looking each one over with a concentration that's almost unsettling until her red rimmed eyes meet his and he can see the raw grief seeping from every pore of her ashen skin. It's only a few days out since the quarry, though it feels like a lifetime, and the memory of Amy's blood coating Andrea's hands surfaces for him. 

"That's a sweet piece," he nods to the pieces cradled in her fingers. 

Andrea's lips twitch in the slightest of smiles. It's a glimmer of a smile, one from memory, and less of happiness. She lets the pieces slip down onto the table, scattered by her fingertips. 

"It was a gift from my father," she says and there's a warmth in her weary eyes at that moment. "He gave it to me just before Amy and I left on our road trip. He said...Two girls on their own should be able to defend themselves."

He's nodding and picking up the cleaning gear that's tucked off to the side, forgotten by him when he'd been unable to take his eyes off the motorcycle ahead of them. He cleans each section of the gun, piece by piece methodically. 

"Smart man, your father," he murmurs absently. "You gotta keep 'em clean, oiled, you see? Just as important as the ammo."

"It looks complicated," Andrea doesn't seem daunted by that and the interest in her face is the first sign of life since they'd buried Amy. "Would you show me?"

It's a relief to have something so familiar to busy himself with, to focus on. He shows her how the pieces go back together, takes the gun apart again and hands it back to her, amused by her solemn attention. 

"Give it a try. 'Fore you know it, you'll be doin' that blindfolded."

She hums in acknowledgement, fingers clumsy but determined. "Practise makes perfect, I suppose." 

It's a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of the R.V.'s tires on the paved road and the low thrumming of the motorcycle. Shane finds his gaze drawn back to the windshield and he's staring, he knows he is, watching Daryl's tanned arms stretch up to the handles, watching the way the tips of his hair ruffle in the wind. He's licking his dry lips without thought and the sounds that Daryl had made in the shower echo in his ears, those little breathy gasps of unrestrained pleasure pulsing through him.

It's a rush that beats at the lingering jealousy. He hates the thought of Merle having heard such sounds, hates that he'd have known Daryl in such ways, and it makes every possessive bone in his body itch. He grits his teeth anew and not for the first time wishes that he could have put a bullet between Merle's smug eyes.

"Shane..." 

Andrea's looking at him, watching him watch Daryl. She says nothing more for a long minute, simply watching with Shane. There's something that he can't put a word to in watching Daryl like this, a feeling that swells and it's one he can't name either. 

"At the camp, before the attack..." she starts, and there's the grief again, so consuming and huge. She breathes in, squaring her shoulders. "I'm sorry if I came across as, well, I know that your relationship with Daryl is no one's business but yours."

He winces, trying not to cringe at the word _relationship_. "S'fine," he says, eager to end this conversation before it continues. "Don't worry about it."

"No," she shakes her head, blonde ponytail swiping over her shoulder. "No, I had no right to pry. It's only...well, you remember what it was like when they first showed up." 

Distaste flits across her pale face. "You hear things in passing, but actually seeing it was so jarring."

He says nothing and out of the corner of his eye, he can see the strip of black, see the collar. It's a beacon, drawing him in time after time. He aches to touch it, to feel Daryl's heartbeat alongside it, to feel the warm, supple leather under his fingers.

"Anyway, I wanted to apologize for assuming that you were doing the same as Merle."

He scowls at that, reflexively. "I'm not hurting him," he snaps. Dull heat floods his neck and he can feel the tips of his ears burning. "I...it's not like that. He doesn't want to change as it is." 

She blinks at that, lips parted slightly. "I, yes, I can see that," she's groping for the right words and it makes him want to laugh at the idea of putting whatever the fuck he has with Daryl into a proper definition.

"You think I want him t' stay like this? I don't, I'm not lookin' to own him, or..." He's floundering now, ears hot and palms clammy. "I never wanted this!"

Andrea meets his gaze coolly and he can see the woman she used to be before all this. She traces one fingernail over the cleaning rag that's twisted up tight in his fist, waiting him out. He's horribly aware of how he must look right now and it's harder than he expected to unclench his shoulders, to breathe out his frustrations. 

"I think maybe some things...some people...are meant to be as they are," she says finally, her words whisper soft, like they're alone in the vehicle, "And that's not necessarily a bad thing."

"I'm not looking to hurt him," his voice is uneven, almost a confession. "He...he jus' needs me."

He drops the cloth from his fist, his chest aching. There's an ache there, deep in his rib cage, a need to be needed. He raises his gaze hesitantly, expecting a dirty look or a look of judgement, and all he sees is a kind of understanding in Andrea's eyes. She scoops up the cleaning rag and rubs it between her forefinger and thumb delicately, giving him time to take in this new knowledge. 

He can hear the purr of the motorcycle still and the sound makes him feel off centre, dizzy as though he's the one guiding it. "He needs me," he says again, tentatively. 

"Is that so bad?" Andrea cocks her head, and though her face is lined with exhaustion, she gives him the barest of smiles. "It's not about hurting someone. That's where I think it went awry with Merle. I doubt someone like him ever considered what things like safe and consensual have to do with...with what they had."

He licks his lips, feeling more dehydrated by the second, and as he starts to speak, Dale's voice rises over them, cursing at the snarl of traffic that lines both sides of the interstate. Over a hundred cars by his guess are jammed every which way, leaving them with next to no room to maneuver through.

Daryl pauses on his motorcycle, looking over his shoulder at the R.V., hesitating. They're all but trapped on the highway. His skin crawls at the thought. He can hear Rick calling for them and all he can think of is how they're sitting ducks, trapped without enough water, without enough food, trapped and waiting. 

He meets Daryl's gaze through the windshield, willing his face to portray a calmness he doesn't feel. He can't panic right now, not like this. 

-


	6. Chapter 6

-

Staring at the long line of cars that stretch endlessly on the interstate, Shane can only think of how unrelentingly hot the air is. There's no breeze anymore, almost as though a switch was flipped. The birds have gone quiet, and the ground is all but sizzling under their feet. He thinks absently of cracking eggs on sidewalks and the hoods of cars as a kid as he surveys the jumbled mess before them.

Dale's muttering crossly behind him, steam billowing up and out from the front of the R.V., acrid plumes that burn their nostrils. The worry, the fear, is palatable now. He can feel it, can see it in the eyes around him. Rick's rubbing his hand over his chin, gaze determined. 

"...dead in the water."

How he loathes the sound of Dale's voice, the way he stares at Shane when he thinks Shane can't see him, the judgemental fuck. He clenches his teeth together, forcing his anger back down. "Problem, Dale?" he drawls, turning to face the old man.

"Just a small matter of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope..." Dale trails off and frowns.

"Look around you, man," Shane nods to the abandoned vehicles surrounding them. "If you can't find a radiator hose here...there's a whole lot of things we might need."

"We could siphon more fuel from these cars, for a start," T-Dog's eyeing the cars thoughtfully.

"Or some water maybe?" Carol adds, wrapping her arms around Sophia's shoulders. 

Shane's parched throat would agree until he hears Lori and he can't even believe it, not really, when she protests that the highway's a graveyard now. His eyebrows raise and a disdainful snort is caught between his lips, just barely held back.

Their needs outweigh those of the dead, that much should be obvious. He sees the look of annoyance on Daryl's face before he carefully pulls that blank expression back down and lowers his gaze to the pavement. Shane shifts his weight, amused by the spark in Daryl, those little bursts of defiance that's hidden away most of the time.

"I don't know how I feel about this," Lori murmurs but it's clear she's getting the silent message from the group and her protest falls by the wayside.

Shane clears his throat and after a quick look to Rick, he gestures to the cars around them. "Gather what you can, y'all."

They leave Glenn to work on the R.V., the group spreading out among the cars. Dale's up on his perch atop the vehicle, binoculars already in hand. Rick, rifle at his side, lingers behind the R.V., his expression grim. 

Daryl's adjusting his crossbow on his back, eyes down, clearly awaiting instruction. With a silent sigh, Shane steps up close to the man, lifting his chin with two fingers. Slowly, always slowly, Daryl lifts his gaze to meet Shane's, hesitant still. 

"Hey," Shane rubs his thumb over Daryl's chin, stroking the stubbled edge of his jaw. "You g'on an' help T-Dog, huh? We need all the gas we can get our hands on." 

"Yessir," Daryl mumbles, tucking his head down and into Shane's hand, nudging at his fingers. 

Shane indulges him for a moment, shielding them from view of anyone else. Andrea's words are fresh in his mind though, dogging his every step. "You don't need to do that," he says even as his fingers stroke further up Daryl's jaw, all but caressing his cheek. 

Ever eager for an affectionate touch, Daryl makes a rumbling sound of pleasure, nearly silent but still there. "You don't need to call me that, remember?"

Daryl nods once, eyes half lidded in pleasure. "Mhm," he manages, shifting on his feet until he's as close as he can be to Shane, sweat damp skin shivering with pleasure at the slow caresses along his cheek and jaw. 

It's hard to resist, risks be damned. He wants to drag Daryl behind one of the cars, he wants so much to kiss him again, to run his hands over Daryl's body, to feel his muscles clench and flutter under his fingers. The lust is intoxicating, dizzying even, but the affection laced through it is what brings him back to awareness.

Letting go of Daryl isn't easy but there's work to be done. He takes one last look at Daryl's mouth and exhales harshly, dragging his attention back to where it needs to be. Daryl's cheeks are flushed an enticing shade of pink, his neck tilted in offering, and the darkness of the collar around his neck sends a wild pulse of arousal down Shane's spine. Even dirt covered and sweaty, Daryl's enticing. He's hard, achingly hard, and he _wants_ so much. With as much force as he can drum up, he lets go of Daryl, breathing rapidly. 

"Yeah," he says, nodding. He licks at his dry lips, watching Daryl's eyes track the movement. "Damn it...go, man, go help him 'fore I do something."

And there it is, a tiny smirk of pleasure that quirks Daryl's mouth. The little fucker, Shane thinks fondly, and he struggles again with the urge to kiss him. He pats Daryl's cheek and steps away, not trusting himself at all just then.

Daryl dips his head in agreement and then he's gone, disappearing into the mess of cars. 

"Fuck," Shane whispers, scrubbing his left hand over the back of his head. He's dizzy, breathing too fast and the hot air is choking him. Daryl's intoxicating, dangerously so, and Shane wants him, God help him, but he wants more, needs more. 

He closes his eyes, breathing hard through his nose, gathering himself. His blood is humming while he listens to the R.V. door slam shut, Andrea's light footsteps fading back inside the vehicle, and little by little, he wills his mind to calm. There's work to be done.

-

There's light noises now, footsteps and the sound of car doors opening and closing, the muffled curses from Glenn as he scrapes away at the corroded radiator hose with a screwdriver. Lori's not too far away, Carol close by her side as they pick through one of the cars. 

He tries random vehicles at first, searching for any abandoned water bottles while keeping a watchful eye on Glenn. He's never felt such thirst before. Life at the quarry hadn't been too awful, not with a possible water source so close at hand. He longs for the days when water could be found easily, boiled and ready to go in no time.

There's not much in the way of bottles. The sprays of blood that cover the cars give him pause as he searches, his stomach lurching at the sight of a bloodied stuffed teddy bear still caught in the seatbelt of a four door. It's a grisly thought, one that has cold chills coursing through him. Goosebumps erupt at the image that plays out across his brain.

He lurches backwards from the car and swallows until the urge to throw up passes, and it's out of the corner of his eye that he sees a delivery truck in the next lane. Glenn's close by now, eyeing another truck and already checking to see what parts can be scavenged. Shane's pulse skips at the name scrawled across the side of the delivery truck and he's all but running over to the truck and yanking at the latches for the roll up door. With a strong tug, he flings the door up and God, oh fucking thank God, there's water, huge jugs of it, row after row of clean water.

He laughs and looks back towards Glenn, elated. "Hey man, were we low on water?"

Glenn's whooping excitedly and he knows that he ought to be conservative but he's scrambling for the plug on the jug directly above him, moaning into the rush of water that pumps out over his face, drenching him immediately. It's indecently good, the gush of warm water spilling over him. He's laughing and swallowing mouthfuls eagerly as Glenn shouts back to save him some.

"'S'like being baptized," Shane laughs again before reluctantly pushing the lid back in. 

He's soaked, right down to his boots, and at the back of his mind, he thinks of Daryl in the shower, sopping wet and choking back moans, writhing in Shane's arms. He's half tempted to drag Daryl under a jug and as he turns to call his name, a smile on his lips, he sees Rick's panicked face running past the R.V.

There's slow and staggering bodies behind Rick, moving by the R.V., the low moaning that they all know too well echoing off the cars in time to the shuffling of feet. The sheer number of them is unbelievable. He's stunned for only a split second before his body is moving, and he runs on instinct, grabbing Glenn and shoving him under the truck, regardless of Glenn's pained cries.

Daryl's nowhere to be seen, and Shane's chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep the desperate urge to call for him silent. He can't hear anything aside from Glenn's frightened breaths and the whisper quiet drag of feet as the horde of Walkers moves past them. His heart's pounding a rapid fire tattoo against his rib cage, his palms are slick with sweat, and he's watching, unable to look away from the dead bodies walking by the truck.

The Walkers are so close, mere inches away from them. Glenn's shaking a bit beside him as the seconds tick by, the mass seemingly unending, a macabre parade. He can't see anyone else, just dirty, rotting shoes dragging past them.

Panic builds and crests in his chest, raw fear clawing at him. He knows that Daryl can handle himself, that he's tougher than anyone would give him credit for, that he's armed well, but the fear snaking over him isn't assuaged by that in the least. He bites at his lower lip, digging his teeth in hard to keep calm. 

It's the sudden shriek that has him shoving his way out from under the truck before he's certain that the dead are gone, a high pitched, youthful shriek, and he just knows that this won't end well. He scrambles around the mishmash of cars in time to see two Walkers chasing Sophia down the embankment at the side of the highway, in time to see Rick leaping over the edge himself and running like mad after her. 

"Sophia!" Carol's cry is more of an agonized wail, chilling to the bone. Lori's got her arms wrapped around Carol, holding her back as she struggles to break free. "No....no, not her..."

"Rick's going, he'll get her," Lori vows, blinking back unshed tears. "He'll get her."

The weapon in his hands feels useless as Carol lets out choked sobs, her fingers clasped over her mouth. Rick's gone, gone straight into the woods, and Shane feels a shockwave of anger ripple through him. Angry that there couldn't be five minutes of peace, angry at the recklessness of Rick, he blinks sweat from his eyes, watching as Rick disappears into the forest, and the bitter rage rattles in his chest, scraping over his ribs. He's beyond words, his mouth working soundlessly.

"What...what the hell was that?" Dale's panting, his face flushed, as he jogs over to the railing. 

Shane's fingers twitch. "He's gone..." he chokes out. "He went after her."

"Who?"

He wheels about, glaring at Dale. His instinct is to ram his fist into something and the urge to do so in Dale's face is intense. "Rick's gone after Sophia! She, she ran! The damned Walkers chased her..."

"Why would she run towards the woods?" Dale frowns, looking to Carol as she weeps, her face turned in to Lori's shoulder. 

"Why? Cause she's a scared kid, man! The hell you think she ran for?" Shane spits, gesturing to the embankment. 

Dale starts to speak, frowning, until he hears Andrea's hitching breaths behind them, and the change of emotion on his face is alarming. "Andrea, I..."

Andrea's covered in blood, tear tracks still running down her cheeks as she joins them, a screwdriver hanging limply from one hand. There's blood smeared over her neck, droplets patterned over her arms and fingers. She's biting at her lips, shaking slightly. "In the R.V.," she says, waving half heartedly at the vehicle. "It's still in there."

"Are you alright?" Dale's hands rise up, tentative, like he wants to touch her, like he wants to wipe the smears of blood from her skin. He hesitates, letting them drift back down.

She shakes her head at him wearily and drops the bloodied screwdriver to the pavement. "Don't," she warns, leaning against the closest car. 

Shane turns away from them at the sound of Daryl's footsteps and the wave of relief that pumps through Shane's veins is heavenly. His anger is forgotten in that moment and he's crossing the distance between the embankment and the car to the far right where Daryl's standing, T-Dog at his side, rushing without thought, almost desperate to see for himself that Daryl's ok. 

"Damn it," he mutters, cupping Daryl's cheek, looking him over closely. "Got me so damn worried."

Daryl makes a sound, a low purr of comfort, as he presses in close, silently showing that he's fine. He tilts his head to the side, nodding to T-Dog, who's trembling violently, Daryl's red rag wrapped around his arm. 

"The fuck...what happened?" 

"You weren't...bit?" Glenn's there, moving to catch T-Dog when he sways to the right, unsteady on his feet.

T-Dog shakes his head, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. "Nah," he lifts his arm even as he leans against Glenn for support. "Caught my arm on the frame of this car, sliced it right up."

"Jesus," Shane sighs. It occurs to him then that he's rubbing Daryl's cheek again, only now they have an audience. He drops his hand as if he's been scalded, ignoring the hurt that flickers across Daryl's face for the briefest of moments.

"Daryl got to me, piled dead bodies on us," T-Dog tries to smile but his lips are a tight line of pain. He's gripping his wounded arm with his good hand, the front of his shirt is almost entirely covered in blood. "Your boy saved us."

"Don't," Shane starts to say but the downwards curl of Daryl's mouth shuts his protest right down. He swallows, guilt flushing the back of his neck. "I, uh...hey Dale, you got anythin' left in that first aid kit?"

Dale nods with a quick glance to Andrea, who's steadfastly ignoring him as she scrubs her hands together, grimacing at the blood on her skin. "I'll see what we've got."

Daryl shifts on his feet, expression blank. He looks to Shane, then to the woods, his eyebrows lifted slightly, a silent question asked. 

"Rick'll have her back," Shane says with little enthusiasm, trying hard to believe his own words. "It...it'll be fine."

On the tip of his tongue is the apology he wants to give, to explain, to soothe the hurt he sees in Daryl's face, but the words don't come and he hates the sad acceptance emanating from Daryl, the resignation. His head pounds, his chest aches and he's gripping his shotgun until his fingers hurt. He tries to speak, to say anything, but Daryl just lifts his head a bit, catching his gaze, and stopping any possible excuse.

He swallows over the lump in his throat and stares at the trees, willing Rick and Sophia to appear, Carol's muffled sobs haunting them all as the minutes tick by.


	7. Chapter 7

-

The forest feels cooler, the trees giving them some respite from the midday sun. It's quiet again, far too quiet. There should be birds, or crickets, something to show that there's life still in the woods, but no, there's nothing, just an unnerving silence aside from the steady water in the creek beside them. 

"You sure this is the spot?" 

Rick's wading right out into the creek, heedless of the water. He points to a hollowed out cross of trees at the edge of the creek, an almost hidden, tucked away corner of sorts. His face is pale, his eyes are wild. He looks frantic.

"I left her right here," he says, and his voice is hoarse, unsteady. "I drew the Walkers way off in that direction up the creek. She was gone by the time I got back here but...but I thought she just ran back to the highway."

He runs his hand over his face, distressed, and it hurts to see, because Shane remembers the Rick who always took charge before all this, the Rick who could lead their station like no one else and keep everyone calm while doing so. This Rick is different in all the wrong ways.

Daryl's got his gaze firmly fixed on the ground and his face is set with concentration. He looks over the edge of the creek bed and then back up the side of the dirt path. He makes a soft sound under his breath and darts a look to Shane, seemingly asking permission to speak.

At Shane's nod, Daryl crouches down and his finger hovers above a faint print of a small shoe moving away from the water and up towards the trees, barely visible amongst the leaves and twigs on the ground. "Came back outta the water," he says, and though his words are tentative, the look on his face is certain.

"You sayin' she went up the path again?" Shane asks, exchanging glances with Glenn, who's standing guard behind them.

Daryl backs up and follows the trail, stepping this way and that, his footsteps almost delicate. He's in his element, tracking the almost invisible shoe prints along the pathway. Merle had bragged more than once about how no one was better than his baby brother when it came to hunting and tracking, and even though Shane's aware of that fact, he's still kind of impressed by how easily Daryl picks up which direction Sophia had gone.

"I told her to keep the sun on her left shoulder," Rick's watching the water ripple around him absently. He sighs, refocusing on creek bank.

"That's assuming she knows her right from her left," Shane mutters. He can't help the annoyance at Rick. The fear on Rick's face infuriates him. 

"Shane, she understood me fine," Rick snaps at him as he climbs out of the water, following Daryl up the path. 

"All I'm sayin' is the kid's tired and scared, man. She had her a close call with two Walkers. Got to wonder how much of what you said stuck."

Daryl tilts his head, catching Shane's attention. He licks his bottom lip and nods to the ground. "Gotta clear print. She headed back to the highway."

"She couldn't have gotten too far then," Glenn reasons. 

Rick stares at the ground, trying to see what Daryl sees and the worry lining his face deepens. He's crouching, looking both ways where the trail seems to end. "It hasn't been that long."

"Hey, we're gonna find her. Probably find her all tuckered out under a bush or somethin'," Shane lies through his teeth, willing Rick to believe him. 

Daryl creeps further along before he comes to a stop. He glares at the ground before schooling his face calm again. "Her prints veer off here."

"Why would she go that way?" Glenn stares in the direction that Daryl's pointing at, a path that leads nearly opposite to the way back to the highway.

Daryl shrugs silently, rubbing his chin with two fingers. He looks to Shane and mumbles that something might have spooked her, but there's no other footprints than Sophia's. He drops his gaze to the dirt, huffing a little.

Rick sighs again and stands up, hands drifting to his hips. "We need to look further in but people are going to start to panic." He looks up at the sun that's peeking between the tops of the trees before nodding to Shane. "You and Glenn, go back to the highway, let everyone know that we're on her trail, doing everything we can. Most of all, keep everyone calm."

"Sure," Shane shifts the shotgun in his arms, his still damp shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest and shoulders. "I'll keep 'em busy with scavenging cars. Think up a few other chores to do as well."

Rick offers a hint of a tired smile to Shane and Glenn. Daryl rises slowly and as he moves to Shane's side, Rick puts his hand out and grasps Daryl's shoulder. "No, I need you here," he starts to say, his words trailing off at the abrupt, harsh way that Daryl flinches under his fingers.

Daryl doesn't look up, doesn't respond when Rick calls his name. He's nearly vibrating with discomfort, and it's not till Shane shakes his head at Rick and puts his own hand on Daryl's shoulder, that he lifts his head. He looks alarmed, confused even, and Shane feels his gut twist sharply. 

"Give me a sec with him," he says, tugging Daryl a few feet away. Daryl follows him obediently, unhappiness curving his mouth down. His shoulders are hunched, like he's expecting a slap or rough fingers, some combo of both, maybe.

"Hey, hey look at me, Daryl," Shane coaxes quietly, keeping one eye on Glenn and Rick. "C'mon now..."

Daryl lifts his eyes, and there's a rumble of something, Shane's not sure exactly what, audible in his chest for a moment. There's old fear in his eyes, a wariness that speaks volumes, the kind that only comes from a lifetime of hurt. Shane leans in closer, at a loss for how to convey that Daryl's safe with Rick.

"Rick needs you here, to help him," he touches Daryl's cheek, smoothing a tiny smudge of dirt away with his thumb. "He can't track like you can, hell, none of us can. That little girl's dependin' on all of us to find her."

Daryl says nothing and he seems lost in thought, though he leans into Shane's hand automatically. With a reluctant nod after a minute of silence, he meets Shane's eyes. "Kid that age shouldn't be out here 'lone," he mutters finally.

"Right," Shane agrees, and it takes a strong reminder to his brain that they have an audience, to not give in and kiss away the hurt that lingers in Daryl's expression. "You go find her, help Rick, got it? I need you to do this."

There's no answer but Shane's not expecting much. Daryl pulls his crossbow off his back in one smooth movement, armed and ready. He keeps his gaze lowered as he walks back to Rick, wearing that blank expression once more, his shoulders still hunched slightly.

Shane's gritting his teeth, the dull headache pinging his brain anew, and the look, that loaded look from Rick sets his nerves on edge. He's hot all over, skin too tight, and itching to unleash his irritations. The hurt in Daryl's eyes is sticking with him and it's piled on top of the incident on the road, the unintentional hurt he'd caused by rejecting Daryl in front of the others, prickling and prodding his anger and frustrations, endlessly.

Rick says something to Daryl, careful to keep his distance this time, and the two of them head closest to where Daryl had pointed, disappearing into the branches and trees within minutes. They're swallowed up by the foliage and Shane chokes down the lump in his throat, working hard to keep his cool as he watches them go.

-

The walk back to the highway is an uneasy one. 

Glenn stays close to his side, gripping his shotgun with tight fingers. He clears his throat twice, looking around at every tree they pass. "You really think they'll find her?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

Shane grunts, ducking under a low hanging branch. "They got as good a chance as any."

"Well yeah, but..."

"But nothin'!" Shane barks, and he can feel his patience sliding clean away. "She'll be fine, Rick's gonna find her, so stop talking about it. You focus on right now, you hear me?"

Glenn nods and the wary look to his face reminds Shane to try and calm down. He's shifting his shotgun between his hands, restless but on guard, and Shane's a little impressed that Glenn doesn't seem all that intimidated, even if he does look nervous.

"Yeah," he agrees, holding Shane's eye contact a moment more. "You're right, I mean, you guys must've dealt with missing kids before all this, kids get lost, it happens."

"Course we did," Shane mutters. He turns his attention back to the path and stomps up the way they came. He wants to turn right back around, he wants to go find Rick and warn him not to try touching Daryl again, to explain that _he_ can't help but be this way, that it's not what he wanted, to continue where fucking Merle Dixon left off. Instead, he covers the ground with quick steps, his mood bleaker by the minute.

"And you...you guys found them most of the time right? Like, alive?"

Shane whirls on him, lightning fast. "The fuck you wanna know, Glenn? You want details, man, that it? You got less than twenty four hours, and that was before the Walkers came along! Twenty four hours at best, cause then you're gonna be lookin' for a.." he falters and rubs his hand over his face, wiping away sweat. He's panting, breathlessly angry.

Glenn's throat bobs and his lips tighten. He nods and takes a step forward, twigs crackling under his shoes. "Sorry," he says, and he's walking, still looking around constantly, hyper aware of their surroundings. "She's just a kid. She must be terrified."

Shane can hear the light rustling of leaves in the distance, hear Glenn's quick breaths, and he can feel the sweat dripping down his back. He concentrates and forces a strained smile. "They'll find her. Rick's not gonna rest till he does. Y'all shoulda seen him back when we'd be on patrols, he was really something."

He smiles more, thinking of the Rick he'd known. There's a pang of loss at the memories, so many years of them, and sometimes he's sure that the shootout that put his friend in the hospital took more than he could have imagined from Rick, from all of them. 

"Just wasn't the same after he got shot," he sighs as the edge of the forest looms in front of them. His brain is clicking along and he tries to decide what the hell he can possibly say to Carol to reassure her when he realizes that Glenn's speaking to him, words unheard while he's been lost in memory.

"...-nd he listens to you, but I think he'll be ok with him as well."

"What?"

Glenn bites his lip, staring into the woods around them. "I...I said, he'll be fine with Rick, even if Rick's not you. "

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" 

Glenn glances at him, and he's clearly picking his words carefully. "I only meant that he clearly needs someone to tell him what to do. Daryl listens to you like he did with M-"

"Don't you dare, don't you compare me to that fucking redneck!" Shane hisses, face red with the immediate rage that swarms through him. "That piece of shit wasn't worth half'a me! You got no idea what he did to Daryl, no clue, and none of you stepped up when that sonofabitch died! I did, me, I took care 'a him. What do the rest of y'all do, huh? Just stand there, whisperin' like he can't hear you, laughing an' judging and...and staring at him!"

"No, no, I mean, he's better off with you," Glenn's stumbling now, struggling to explain. "I was saying that Rick'll be good to him. We all know you aren't like Merle. It's...I don't mean anything bad by it, just that I noticed how well he takes to you, and I thought it might be sorta similar with Rick."

The savage rush of jealousy that rears up nearly makes his head spin. For a moment, he can't breathe, can't focus on anything besides the howling anger that rampages through his mind. His neck burns and his hands ache to rip into something. The thought forms but he's reluctant to voice the feeling, to admit to that feeling that blooms in his chest when he holds Daryl's gaze. Instead, he sucks in a strangled breath, choking on his rage.

He can't, he won't think it, Rick can't have this too, no, he fucking can't. The unbridled fury and wild possessiveness takes his air away all over again and even though it's only been seconds, Glenn's watching him closely, ready to bolt if needed. 

"No..."

Shane swallows again and again, his jaw clicking. He's moving up the path, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. No, no, he won't give up this time, it's different, _this_ is different, Daryl's not Lori, it's not the same, and over his goddamned body will he step back and let Daryl go. 

It's this thought that catches, cycling over and over, digging in. He thinks of Andrea and her words mock his stubbornness. 

"Um, Shane...Are you, uh...?"

"No," he scrubs a hand over his face, slicking his damp hair back, rubbing at his neck. "I'm fine. I'm just...yeah, it's fine, sorry, think I oughta get some water into me. C'mon, Carol's waiting."

Glenn doesn't look convinced but he wisely says nothing and picks up his pace, hurrying along. 

The sun's beating down and Shane hears Carol's frightened cries long before he gets to the edge of the embankment, but the sound is lost to the remnants of his jealousy, the coiling, twisting anger that simmers on. He's on autopilot, speaking calmly to Carol, giving her the usual platitudes and assurances that they've done this before, lots of times and it won't be long now, try not to panic, Rick's good at this and nobody tracks like Daryl does. Lori chimes in, telling Carol that it goes without saying that they won't leave without Sophia. The words sound hollow and Shane thinks of the way the shoe prints had veered off, away from safety.

He assigns tasks and their group scatters, silently this time, grateful for the busywork, and if his gaze lingers on the trees, searching for a glimpse of Daryl and Rick, it's only to be expected. He's unwraveling, his mind is chaos, and only focusing on digging through vehicles is enough to keep him in line. 

He can't help the fear, even if he ignores it.

-

The sun's finally setting, dipping below the trees, leaving the sky awash in shades of orange and pink. It would be pretty to look at, but he can't drum up the enthusiasm required, not when he's busy trying not to stare at the forest, trying not to will Daryl to appear. 

They've cleared some of the cars away from the R.V., creating a swath of space around it. Glenn's got the closest bypass flagged on the map and Shane has to grit his teeth every time he thinks about the hours of daylight they're losing on this interstate. Fort Benning is far, far away still and the delay is an irritant that digs at him steadily. 

They've collected a haul that surprises even him, water jugs, food staples, flashlights, camping gear, and between T-Dog's and Daryl's previous attempts, a decent amount of fuel so far. Weapons...he grimaces and exchanges looks with Dale as he refuses to give Andrea her gun back. 

He hates to side with the old fuck, but the man has a point. Most of the group isn't trained beyond the most basic understanding of firearm safety and he's half expecting that one of them might end up shooting themselves in the foot if a Walker popped up suddenly.

He's not uncaring, he thinks as he studies the engine beneath the hood of the car he's leaning on, not cold or callous, just pragmatic enough to know that the odds aren't all that high in this ending well. There isn't always a happy ending waiting and each second that ticks by is a reminder that Sophia's chances are dwindling. 

He scowls at the dip stick as he checks fluid levels, as he closes the hood of the car, and he finds his gaze wandering back to the edge of the embankment, sweat pooling at the base of his spine. It's eating at him, this waiting, this hoping, and he wants to grab his weapons, grab Daryl, and go. He can feel Lori watching him and the shame he'd felt at the CDC swarms him, beating back his irritation. 

His cheeks burn with memory. He'd never meant to scare her like that, hadn't meant to provoke her that way. He traces his fingers over his neck, though the scratches are mostly gone, a faded memory on his skin. He knows how it looked, knows that she'd thought he was going to...to force...he shakes his head in disgust. He'd never, not ever, and the fact that she'd thought so of him is galling. 

The temptation to leave is terribly strong. 

To hell with them all. 

He closes his eyes and thinks of how easy it would be to leave. They'd only need a car, a decent amount of supplies. He's not needed here, not anymore. Before Rick, he'd had a purpose, and he'd been damn good at it, but now? Lori doesn't need him, and he hates how that hurts still. He grits his teeth, sighing heavily. 

Daryl though, he needs something, something more than Shane ever expected to give anyone, and being needed feels like a salve on his wounds. His lips curve in a ghost of a smile as he hears footsteps brushing through long grass, hears Carl call out for his dad, and the lift in his chest is exhilarating. He's moving, long legs crossing the pavement in fast strides. He needs to see them for himself, and as he comes to a stop by the low fence, he's breathing out a tiny sigh of relief at the sight of Rick walking towards them, Daryl a few paces behind.

There's Carol, wringing her hands as she tries not to sob when she doesn't see Sophia, Lori's exhale of Rick's name, chatter fading into the background as Shane comes to a stop in front of Daryl, his hands itching to pull the other man in close. Relief is a weak word for how he feels.

Rick's explaining that they tried, that Sophia's trail had gone cold, that they'll start again in the morning, but Carol's shaking her head, all but begging them not to leave her child in the woods alone overnight. The guilt haunts Rick's face and he looks so weary, so frustrated, that Shane opens his mouth to speak, to back Rick up, when he hears Daryl make that little sound, a questioning grumble before he lifts his head and licks his lips, speaking tentatively.

"...out in the dark's no good," he says in a tone that's this side of gentle. "We'd just be tripping over each other. More'll get lost."

Carol's staring at Daryl, hell, they all are. It's the most Daryl's said in days. She's sniffling softly, hands clasped together, as if in prayer. "But she's only twelve," she chokes out. "She can't be out there on her own. You didn't find anything?"

Rick tries again, asking her to trust him, that they won't give up, that Daryl knows the woods better than any of them, and Shane has to swallow the flicker of jealousy that burns. He can't help it, can't pretend that he's ok with any of this. 

There's blood on Daryl's pants, drawing Carol's attention, but Daryl only shrugs, staring at the ground as Rick explains that it's Walker blood, that they'd taken down a nearby Walker to see what he'd eaten, and that it hadn't been anywhere near Sophia. 

Carol's pale, her mouth a twisted grimace. "How could you just leave her out there to begin with? How could you just leave her?" Her voice is shrill, sharp and accusing, and steeped in pain. 

"Those two Walkers were on us, I had to draw them off, it was her best chance," Rick's patient, though Shane can see the lines etched into his cheeks, signs that he's holding a tight grip on his emotions. His eyes are still wild with worry and Shane's ire rises. 

"Sounds like he didn't have much of a choice, Carol."

"How was she supposed to find her way back on her own? She's just a child and you left her there! You left my baby in the woods!" She glares at Shane, then at Rick. 

Daryl's hunching his shoulders under the weight of her glare, distressed by the anger, by the implication of failure, and Shane's fingers clench into loose fists. He's wildly angry, that she'd dare to put this on Rick, on Daryl by proxy. He's about to snap, to tell her just what he thinks when she moves away towards the R.V., chest hitching as she cries. 

Rick sighs, his head drooping. He looks exhausted. Lori's at his side immediately, whispering words of comfort.

"M'fine," Rick says, rubbing a hand over his chin wearily. "Daryl, thank you for your help. I would've been far out of my element without you today."

Daryl grunts softly, his head dipped even lower. He shrugs and stares at the ground, shifting back and forth uneasily. 

"We'll get back to it at first light. We'll have to make do for the night here." Rick nods to Shane, clasping his hand to Shane's shoulder. "Best try to get some sleep for now."

"Yeah," Shane nods, but his eyes are on Daryl, on the way he's lifting his gaze long enough to meet Shane's look, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "Sure thing."

He waits until the group starts to disperse before he's crossing the last few feet, his hands aching to touch Daryl, to feel that he's ok. Daryl sways closer to him, leaning in and Shane's breath punches out of him at the rush of affection, of concern that he feels over the man before him. The jealousy is still there, smouldering embers, but he's not thinking about that, not when he's gripping Daryl's upper arm and feeling the muscles under his skin flex in response. Without another thought, he's bringing Daryl over to the car he'd been working on as the sun sets behind them, guiding him out of sight from the others, and a fair distance from the R.V.

He tries to think of what he wants to say, tries and fails to remember the kinds of sweet nothings he would have used with women in the past, but nothing comes out. He licks his lips, breath coming faster as Daryl tilts his head up, as he looks at him, and there's warmth in those pretty blue eyes of his, and that's all he needs to see before he's pulling him in close, his lips brushing over Daryl's. 

It's gentle, slow and almost sweet, and his heart's pounding a fierce beat against his ribs. Daryl shivers under the kiss, moving into it with surprise, his lips parting and sliding against Shane's tentatively. As slow as it starts, Shane's groaning and pressing Daryl against the trunk of the car, pushing against him, his tongue tracing the drag of Daryl's lower lip, swallowing the tiny moan that he coaxes from him. 

His hands are greedy, stroking and smoothing over Daryl's arms, reaching up across his shirt and over his neck, his thumbs rubbing over the leather collar. He's stroking the outline of it and Daryl's purring almost, rubbing against him, his lips parting under Shane's tongue. 

"Can't help it," Shane murmurs between kisses, his face warm, the tips of his ears bright pink as he whispers. He fists his hand gently in the tips of Daryl's hair, leaning him back a little. He's kissing down Daryl's neck, tongue and lips rubbing over the collar, over his skin, and he's panting, lost in the feel of him.

"I tried, can't help it around you," he says as he sucks a light red mark beneath Daryl's ear. "Can't stop thinkin' about you..."

There's a choked moan caught in Daryl's throat, and he's rubbing against Shane, gasping for air as he pushes back, calloused fingers reaching for the belt around Shane's hips. He's as frantic as that first time back at the quarry, eager to please, to show his affection, and it's only that memory that stops Shane from bending Daryl over the car for everyone to see. 

"C'mere," he mutters, snagging Daryl's fingers with his own, stopping him. "Not out here."

Daryl slumps back, a mournful whine building in his chest. He's eyeing Shane carefully, and Shane can take a wild guess as to what he's thinking. He presses a light kiss to Daryl's mouth, kissing him until the tension in his shoulders eases, until he feels Daryl's hands settle, fingers still twined in Shane's.

"It's not that, swear it. I jus', not out here."

Daryl's nodding, his eyes lowered. There's hope blooming on his face, and Shane's caught in the moment, unwilling to deny this right now. The look on Daryl's face earlier, the rejection, he can't, he just can't...

"I know," he says as he opens the closest door of the car, tugging Daryl flush against him. "S'gonna be ok, let me show you."

Daryl's dropping to his knees as soon as Shane sits in the front passenger seat, nosing at his thigh, his hands working for Shane's belt. His lips are curving up, pleased, and Shane's half tempted to let him continue. He knows, oh fuck, does he ever, how good Daryl can be, how sinfully good those lips can feel wrapped around his cock, and it takes a lot of control to stop him again, despite the soft moan of dismay from him. 

"Shh, 'nough of that," he murmurs, sliding his fingers back up Daryl's neck, rubbing the collar for a brief second. The tips of his fingers tingle, the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he's slipping one finger through the loop that lies flat on the collar, tugging once, twice. "Stay still, don't move, don't you come till I say so."

Daryl moans again, a breathy sound passing his lips. He's got his head tilted, showing off his neck, submissive and eager. "Please," he whispers, biting at his kiss swollen lips, fighting hard to stay still. 

Shane can hear his heartbeat pounding away in his ears, he can hardly breathe as he all but fondles the collar, he can't look away from how it wraps around Daryl's neck, how it contrasts to the sweat slicked skin around it, and his cock pulses, sending a lick of desire coiling low. 

He's reaching, yanking open Daryl's belt and pulling at his pants, his underwear, tugging them down his thighs until he can see bare skin. He's half crazed with the need to see, to touch, and Daryl's panting, his fists bunched at his sides, well trained, and though he's as still as can be, his desire gives him away, his cock hard and heavy between his thighs. 

"Fuck," Shane's bringing him in for a kiss, his long fingers gripping Daryl tightly around the base of his cock, feeling the heat, the drips of slick arousal that fall on his thumb. 

"Ah fuck, look atcha," he says, nipping Daryl's lip, licking the tiny hurt. "Such a good boy."

Daryl makes a sound, a small moan that borders on a sob, his thighs shaking minutely. "Please," he begs, his hips jerking once, his body betraying him. He's so hard, his breath coming out of him in choked pants, sweat dripping down his temples like tears. 

"Gonna be mine," Shane pumps his fingers, a loose fist that drags a whimper from Daryl. "You're gonna be mine, ain't that right? My good boy, huh..."

Daryl nods unevenly, his hands flexing and curling, in and out, his eyes narrowed to mere slits, he's so close, and the tender words coming from Shane are undoing him more than anything else. He's clinging to his training by the skin of his teeth, breath whistling through his teeth. 

"S'right, baby," Shane murmurs, moving his hand slowly, so slowly, the tips of his fingers rubbing little circles over and over as he goes, dipping lower to tease between his thighs, his thumb brushing in, pushing on sensitive skin. "Just for me, no one else."

Daryl gasps, fidgeting and rocking on his knees, his legs trapped in place by the fabric of his pants. He's dripping steadily now, his pre-come slicking Shane's palm, and the smooth glide of his roughened hands is heavenly. He arches his back, soundless cries falling from his lips. 

"Mine," Shane growls, and even as he speaks, that spark of jealousy is there, dancing beyond his grasp, and he can't stand the idea, can't let it form, so he presses a kiss to Daryl's neck, biting lightly and twisting his fist as he slides his hand back up, twisting gently but steadily, stroking and tugging until Daryl's shaking all over, desperately trying to obey Shane.

Daryl starts to speak, a half formed plea caught in his throat, but it's lost in the second that Shane's teeth dig in to Daryl's neck, at the moment that Shane's fist tightens a fraction more, and Daryl's breath shudders out of him, his skin prickling, his toes curling, fingers digging in to his palms. He's caught in a haze of pleasure, every inch of his body alive and aching to be touched.

Shane brushes his lips over the very edge of Daryl's right ear, licking and tugging on his earlobe as he whispers, "Come," and he smiles, listening to Daryl try not to scream when he does as he's told, his release drenching Shane's hand, coating every finger.

"Shh," he rests his head to Daryl's, listening to him pant, feeling him tremble all over. "Did so good..."

His own arousal is there, but it feels secondary, unimportant, and he's happy to wipe his fingers off, to bring Daryl in closer, to feel Daryl tuck his head under Shane's chin, purring in that grumbly way of his. His head aches, his chest still feels tight, and as the sun sets completely, Sophia isn't far from their minds, but he's fine for this moment.

He has to be.

-


	8. Chapter 8

-

Sunshine creeps over the cars that line the jammed highway, chasing away the early morning gloom. Dew drops gleam on the metal vehicles, illuminated by the weak first rays of the day. The morning is as eerily silent as the day before, and it's this discomforting silence that rouses Shane. 

He blinks once, then again, awareness trickling in. His limbs are stiff, sore from sleeping in a reclined driver's seat, and he moves his legs cautiously, grunting under his breath at the ache that answers. 

Daryl shifts beside him, curled up in a tight ball on the passenger seat, snuffling as he buries his face in the crook of his arm. A sunbeam rolls over his dirt covered shirt and Shane watches raptly as the light rises, the darkness of Daryl's collar at contrast. He licks at his parched lips, watching as Daryl goes from being asleep to aware in what seems like only a few seconds.

It's a subtle change, a hitch in his breathing, in the way his eyes open just the slightest bit, assessing and gauging if everything's alright. He blinks slowly, letting his arms uncoil, his limbs stretching out from the bundle he's made himself into on the seat.

There's a desire to ask how he slept on the tip of Shane's tongue, but he swallows it back, flexing his arms and his legs instead, easing the dull pains in them. Daryl yawns silently, ducking his head in that questioning way, his gaze hovering around Shane's chin.

"Yeah, m'fine." Shane can't look away, he's too taken with the sleepy blinks of the man next to him, with the way Daryl's muscled arms flex as he uncurls on the seat. "These cars ain't that great for sleeping in, s'all."

Daryl huffs out a whisper quiet breath, amusement curving his mouth. He hesitates, biting down on his lower lip before raising his eyes to meet Shane's gaze head on. "Slept in worse."

"That right? Where's that, then?"

"Huntin' with no tent, no sleeping bag," Daryl shrugs and rubs one hand up and over his face, masking another yawn. "Hard ground's worse."

Shane nods, but his attention is on Daryl's mouth, on those distracting lips. He remembers the way he'd looked the night before, the way his face had gone slack with pleasure, the way he'd obeyed so nicely. The memory calls a pleasant tug in his groin, and he reaches forward, sliding his hand into Daryl's hair, lightly gripping the short strands. 

"C'mere," he says, brushing his lips over Daryl's, morning breath be damned. 

It's sweet, almost chaste, and Daryl's soft moan is just the right sound for him. There's a hesitance to Daryl's kisses, as if he's unsure of what to do, but any tension melts out of him as Shane's lips steal another kiss, leaving him pliant in Shane's arms.

"Good boy," Shane whispers, rubbing his fingers over the edge of the collar. 

Daryl ducks his head, the tips of his ears pink. He's making those little sounds of happiness, almost purrs truthfully, and he's reaching, nimble fingers already trying to undo Shane's belt before Shane closes his hand around Daryl's. 

"No," he says, far more gently than he expects it to come out. "It ain't all about that."

Daryl blinks and lifts his head, eyeing Shane warily. His rumbles have faded, and he's tensing, no doubt doubly confused by Shane's refusal the night before and this morning again. His hand strays to his mouth, teeth nibbling on the edge of his thumbnail, his anxiety heavy in the air.

"No, don't..." Shane sighs and moves Daryl's hand down, gripping the roughened fingers once more. "Look, you don't hafta do that all the time. I'm not expecting...ah fuck, I don't know how to explain it." 

"M'good at it," Daryl mumbles under his breath, his head drooping. "I can be good."

Jesus. 

"Hey, I didn't say you weren't." Shane's moving closer and he's nudging Daryl closer, badly wanting to ease the unhappiness before him. "You're more than that, ok? You're...worth more," he says slowly, trying his best to pick the right words.

Daryl doesn't respond. He's silent, shoulders hunched up, and just like that, Shane's reminded of how little time has passed since the quarry, since the trip to Atlanta where Merle had been taken down by the walkers. Maybe a little less than a month, he figures. The days are blurry and no one's crossing anything off on a calendar when there's basic survival to worry about. 

"Hey, c'mon, look at me," he coaxes with a hint of authority, rubbing Daryl's chin with his free hand, waiting as Daryl responds instinctively, his gaze dragging back up. "There we go, that's perfect. I want you to listen t' me, ok? I know _he_ taught you different but he ain't here anymore. I am."

Daryl nods once, his lips thinned and tight. His eyes shut for a second, a spasm of grief clear on his face before he opens his eyes and schools his expression blank. His teeth find his bottom lip again, and he worries at the flesh there. Daryl's had next to no time to process losing his brother, Shane knows, there's been no resolution, and there's such a look of mute sadness to his face that it riles his protective side.

"You gonna be mine?" Shane's got his hand cradling Daryl's cheek and he can feel him starting to nuzzle his fingers. "Yeah, I know it ain't the same as it was. I'm not him, never gonna be. So, yeah things are gonna be different. You got more to offer." 

He wants to soothe the sting of rejection, take away the tinge of hurt that lingers as Daryl shrugs and studies the horizon before exhaling with a tiny huff. He doesn't believe him, Shane's aware of that, but he wants...he wills him to believe it. He's floundering with how to handle moments like this. It's mainly instinct that's got them this far, a sixth sense for guessing what to say or do. 

"C'mere," he says finally, running his hand over Daryl's hair in slow, calming strokes, steadily petting him until he feels the tension been to melt from Daryl's shoulders. "That's good, jus' relax a minute now." 

It's a quiet silence, a moment of calm before the day fractures.

-

Rick's solemn as he rolls out the weapons in front of the group, instructing them all to take something along. There's knives, hatchets even, but none of the extra guns. Shane's less than surprised to hear Andrea complain seconds later and he mentally rolls his eyes. 

"These aren't the kind of weapons we need. What about the guns?"

"We've been over that. Daryl, Rick, and I are carrying. We can't have people poppin' off rounds every time a tree rustles," he's trying for patience, he can feel Daryl pressing in closer to him as he leans back gains the R.V., a grounding presence to his growing irritation.

"Say somebody fires at the wrong moment, a herd happens to be passing by. See, then it's game over for all of us. So you need to get over it." He raises his eyebrows at her, frustrated.

Andrea purses her lips but says nothing, a single shake of her blonde head to show her annoyance.

Rick clears his throat, cutting the tension for a moment. "Daryl, you said yesterday that Sophia probably didn't wander too far from the creek."

And with that, Daryl shrinks ever so slightly under the weight of the group's stares. He bobs his head, grunting softly. Shane can see the discomfort, the tremor of unease that he can't quite hide, and he slides his right arm behind Daryl, his hand a calming distraction as he presses it to the small of Daryl's back, slipping under the edge of his shirt. 

"G'on," he nods, circling his fingers in a slow, steady arch. 

Daryl licks his lips, a flush of colour heating his cheeks. He starts to speak, his voice catching until Shane's hand digs in a little more. "The...uh, idea is to take the creek up about five miles, turn around and come back down the other side." 

He stares at the ground as he speaks, but his words have the confidence needed.

"Chances are she'll be by the creek. It's her only landmark."

Rick's got that look of approval on his face as Daryl speaks, and when Daryl lifts his gaze for a split second, he catches a glimpse of it, and trails off, flustered, but still pink from the unspoken praise. 

There's a spike, a reminder of the day before, and Shane feels that stab of ugly jealousy uncoil, a dark hatred that baffles him even as it settles in. His hand flexes and he's all but pulling Daryl back against him, chest tight, teeth clenched. It's stupid, he hates how reflexive his jealousy is, but he sees it, sees Rick taking over as clear as he can see the trees across the interstate. 

And he'd go, Shane knows it, fuck, doesn't he know it. Daryl will seek someone with authority, someone to control him. It's all he's known. He grinds his teeth, raging silently at the thought. 

Daryl shifts from one foot to the other, picking up the waves of anger rolling off of Shane and he's fidgeting as though he's going to drop to his knees, plainly eager to please. Rick's staring at him now, eyebrows furrowed in concern, uncertainty etched into his face, it's all making his skin crawl. 

Shane inhales one long, slow breath, fighting for control. When he's sure that he won't snap, he forces a look of calm, and dips his head, differing to Rick. He listens half heartedly to Rick giving instructions to the others, his shotgun fisted tightly in his left arm, his right arm still pressing Daryl in close.

Daryl noses at Shane's chin, a rumble echoing in his throat. He's worried, anxious by the palpable anger coming from him, and Shane can take a wild guess as to what Merle would have wanted when he needed to calm down. 

"It's fine," Shane slips his hand away from Daryl's back, his thumb brushing over the collar before cupping his cheek. "You didn't do anythin' wrong," he pitches his voice low and smiles a bit. "You did real good."

Daryl looks at him, brushing his lips over the skin below Shane's thumb, a soft purr in response. 

"Yeah, you did. C'mon, we gotta get a move on, you just show us where we need to go, alright?"

"Mhm," Daryl smiles the smallest of smiles, but the sight of it sends a rush of affection through Shane, washing out the anger that's lingering in his chest, and his mind.

-

In the forest for the second time in as many days, Shane's acutely aware of how easy it would be to get lost if you weren't familiar with the more rural areas outside the city. It's as dense as can be, sunlight flickering through the heavy leaf canopy. There's little noise other than the group's footsteps as they enter, Dale, T-Dog, and the R.V on the interstate fading behind them.

It goes without saying that they're essentially following Daryl through the forest. 

He's back in his element, at home amidst the trees. He's focused, his gaze sweeping constantly over the ground and at the trees, his crossbow at the ready in his arms. Shane's content to stay a few paces back, giving Daryl control of their trek through the woods. 

It's already a hot day and he's wiping the sweat from his forehead absently as they wander further in, skin prickling with irritation. Rick's as grim as the day before, worry lining his face as he follows close behind Daryl. He's blaming himself, Shane knows, guilt clouding his eyes, and turning his mouth down to a distraught frown. 

There's Carol, Lori, and Andrea behind them, Glenn bringing up the rear, and of all things, Carl ambling along between the adults, looking far too proud to be along for this mission. Shane can't fathom it, he'd tried to catch Rick's eyes before they'd left, but the bastard hadn't even looked his way as him and Lori had agreed with that nosy old fuck and let Carl come along. 

It's ridiculous and he'd shout all the things he's thinking of if he thought someone would actually listen, but no, here's the kid, tromping through the leaves like they're playing some fuckin' game of cops and robbers. 

Who cares if he wanted to come and just what the hell is Rick thinking, letting a _child_ come with them? It's nothing short of insanity if you asked him, not that either Lori or Rick had.

He's fuming, he knows that, but it's aggravating nonetheless. He'd never have let Carl come with, no way, no how. It's not safe, not nearly safe enough.

"Hey Shane, look," Carl's there at his side, interrupting his internal argument, and showing off the weapon proudly clasped in his hands. "Dad said I could carry it and Mom said as long as I was..."

"Keep it down," Shane barks at him, hating the recoil on Carl's young, confused face. "We're looking for Sophia. You need to focus on that."

Carl nods silently, crestfallen, and Shane wants to say something nice, something comforting but he's still pissed that Rick even agreed to this in the first place. It's bad enough that they got one lost kid in the forest. Every sound that they make echoes and this is risky enough without the addition of having to keep an eye on Carl.

The anger in Lori's eyes when Carl falls into step beside her stings far more than he expects it to. 

Shoulders hunched, he trudges on. Daryl's further ahead, approaching a slight clearing on nearly soundless feet. He's all enviable grace like this, completely alert. With a cock of his head, he's glancing at Shane, nodding to the space before him. 

The air's thick, heavy apprehension hanging over them as a small tent comes into view in the clearing. It's a basic domed camping tent, most likely from one of the people on the interstate.

Rick's caught his look and he's moving in closer to Daryl, close enough to make Shane's hackles rise. He murmurs to Daryl, low enough that Shane can't quite hear, and Daryl....he's ducking back a little, his crossbow still raised. 

Through clenched teeth, Shane nods to Rick with a whisper, "She could be in there."

Rick's focused now, and he's drawing Carol closer, explaining that if Sophia's in there, her voice should be the first thing she hears. Her face ashen, and with desperately hopeful tears in her eyes, Carol calls out, asking Sophia if she's in the tent, all but begging her to come out.

There's no response. 

Rick tightens his lips, preparing for the worst. He's reaching, pulling the zipper tab down, and the stench that rolls out is staggering. The putrid scent of death and rot hits them, battering at their senses with unrelenting force. Gasping and coughing, they're driven back a step, but no little girl emerges. There's nothing but the remains of someone slumped over in a camping chair. 

Shane's swearing under his breath, eyes watering even as he forces his legs to propel him into the tent. The maggots that creep over the dead man's face have his meagre breakfast wanting to come up. There's blood spray up and behind the body, and a hole under the chin to suggest that the man had put a gun to his throat.

"Some guy," he mutters, disgusted. "Shot himself."

"Opted out," Daryl mumbles under his breath. He's as grossed out as all of them, but he's got a peculiar look on his face, halfway between anger and revulsion. He lowers his crossbow, pressing close to Shane for a second, like he's seeking a moment of comfort. 

Shane wipes the sweat dripping down his face with his forearm, breathing shallowly. He's seen his fair share of dead bodies long before the Walkers came, but it never gets any easier. 

"Yeah, like Jenner said," he agrees.

Rick steps back, swiping at his mouth like it'll rub the smell of death away. He's sweating, body movements tight with unvoiced anger. Shane can see the frustration, he knows the ache of finding yourself unable to do something, _anything_ , to solve the problem. 

Daryl huffs and leans down, snagging the gun from the dead man's hand. He holds it up silently, offering it to Rick with averted eyes. Rick's looking the gun over, thanking Daryl as he does so, and Shane hates the spurt of annoyance that's constantly simmering under his skin, he hates that he wants to tell Rick to back off, and he knows deep down that Rick's not trying to take over, but it doesn't matter one whit when he can see Daryl's shy gaze taking in the gratitude on Rick's face. 

And as he opens his mouth to say something, there's a clanging of bells, church bells ringing loudly that breaks the quiet of the forest. 

They're running, all of them, bolting through the forest in the direction of the sound. Someone's ringing the bells, someone has to be. And they run, ducking the low lying branches, dodging through the trees until they burst through onto the property of a tiny church, bells clanging over and over, but it's wrong, it's all wrong.

"Rick," Shane's panting, bewildered. "This can't be it, there's no steeple, no bells."

The church is very small, a modest building of white washed walls, a Baptist church if Shane's not mistaken, and there's no way it could be this church as the bells stop ringing right then. 

If Rick hears him, he gives no indication. He's running up the short steps to the front door, yelling Sophia's name, but it's not her, not at all, just Walkers sitting in the pews like it's a regular Sunday, ready and waiting to hear the weekly sermons. 

There's only a few, easily taken down by himself, Rick and Daryl, and it's over so fast. Daryl looks to Shane, then to the cross in front of them, his mouth pursed. He looks as though he'd rather spit than cross himself in such a place, but that's neither here nor there when the bells clang again, louder now that they're inside the church. 

Glenn's closest to the door and he's gone when the bells ring, searching for the source of the sound, Rick tumbling behind him. Shane's right on his heels, scanning their surroundings with growing agitation. He hates being ignored. 

"I'm tellin' you, it's the wrong church. It's got no steeple, Rick."

Glenn stops short in front of a metal box that's attached to the side of the building. "It's on a timer," he says with a breathless sound of surprise. "A timer..."

He rips the cords coming out of it, ending the peals of noise, and just like that, near silence drops over ther search party. Carol's watery exhale breaks the quiet and she crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself, as she speaks, as she tells them that she wants to go back inside the church for a moment.

Her footsteps are whisper quiet as she disappears into the building. The silence is deafening.

They're listless, waiting for some unknown sign, and Carol's murmured prayer feels almost obscenely loud. Rick sighs a heavy, burdened sigh, and he nods to Shane as he walks around the vicinity of the building, back to the front doors, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. Carl trails after him, and after a moment's hesitation, Glenn goes as well.

Daryl slides his crossbow onto his back, a questioning tip of his head. Shane swallows, his dry throat clicking. "C'mon, gonna have a look around. Those bells might'a drawn her attention."

"Shane, I need to speak with you," Lori's there at his side, her voice low and urgent. She levels a look at Daryl, her gaze icy cold. "Alone."

"Thought we said all we had to back in Atlanta."

Her mouth tight with anger, Lori stares back at him, and he knows that Rick isn't far away, that their voices could carry easily, and he can see the hurt flash over Daryl's face when Shane steps away. 

"You go keep an eye out, in case Sophia shows up," he mutters even though he can't bring himself to look at Daryl as he walks off to the side, Lori a pace behind him. 

"What now?"

Lori folds her arms, anger bringing pink spots to her cheeks. "Carl thinks you hate him."

"I'm trying to put some distance," he pitches his voice low, trying not to watch the slump of Daryl's shoulders as he walks over to the fencing in front of the church. "I'm tryin' to make this easier, alright? Ain't that what you wanted? Me to stay away?"

"This situation is happening because of you and your actions," she hisses, her eyes narrowed. "You have no right to take it out on Carl."

"My actions? Jus' me? Last I checked, it was the both of us. You go ahead an' tell yourself whatever you have to, whatever helps you sleep better, but you ain't dumpin' all this on me," he's all but spitting, enfuriated. "I tried to tell you what happened in that hospital...none of this was intended. It was a mistake."

She scoffs and glares back at him.

"It was a mistake, you and me both, so now I'm steppin' back, staying where I need to be. I'm trying to do the right thing here. That's all.

Lori's jaw tenses and her gaze turns thoughtful. "By who? Me? Or Daryl?"

_"Don't."_

The silence hangs, and for several minutes they stare at each other, locked in a unspoken argument. Lori blinks finally and her throat bobs as she swallows, her face pale, her eyes overly bright.

"I'm leavin'," he says, and it's then that he feels the decision sink in. "He's comin' with me."

"You're just going to leave, without telling Rick?"

Shane shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "He'd only try to stop me. It's on you. You tell him what you want, or nothing at all. You're his wife."

She flinches, as if slapped. "And that's it?"

Lori stares at him, waiting for the response that doesn't come, her lips a thin grimace. With a flick of her long brown hair, she turns her back to him and strides away. He watches her go before sighing deeply.

"Has to be," he mutters as he steps back, spotting Andrea lingering by the side of the church. He groans inwardly, realizing that she's more than likely overheard them. With a mental shrug, he turns away, towards Daryl.

He knows that Daryl's trying not to watch from his peripheral vision at the edge of the fencing that surrounds the church, but the wounded slump of his hunched shoulders give him away, and he wants to comfort him, to reassure him that Lori's presence changes nothing, but he knows how aware Daryl is of everything, how unsubtle Lori and him had been at the camp before Rick's miraculous return.

He doesn't have the right words, he doesn't know how to fix this clusterfuck. 

It's as he's heading in Daryl's direction that he sees Rick on the stairs of the church, his jaw tight with irritation. He pauses at Rick's unspoken command, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. 

For a split second he thinks that Rick knows, that he's overheard their conversation, before the pause is gone and Rick's looking at him expectantly. He listens as Rick tries to tell him why they can't go back yet, that _he_ can't go back yet, can't admit defeat, and it's so Rick, so much the man he's known for damn near forever, that he's not nearly as frustrated as he thinks he ought to be.

Splitting them up, he doesn't think it's all that great of an idea, but Rick is Rick, and he needs this, more than Shane can fathom. He agrees, if only to keep the peace. 

Daryl says nothing when Rick suggests that he go with Lori, Andrea, and Carol, Glenn as his back up. He flicks his gaze to Shane's boots, raising his head enough to show he's heard the request. 

Shane keeps his tongue firmly between his teeth, biting down on the retort that's begging to come out when Carl stubbornly refuses to go back to the highway, insisting that he can help. And Rick, Rick fucking smiles wanly and agrees, and there's no time to say anything now, not that they'd listen anyhow, not when they're traipsing back into the forest, and Daryl's just out of his reach, resigned, but on guard as ever. 

The forest is there, ready, swallowing them up with each step, and he can feel his heart pounding a dull thud with every branch his boot snaps on the ground. The air's thick and he has nothing to say, not with the ashy taste of wrongness on his tongue, not with Lori's scornful words pricking his skin, poisoned darts in his nerves, and the ever present angry current thrumming in his bloodstream. 

He wants to smile when Carl sees the deer, he wants to remember the first time he went hunting, but that's cut short by the sound of a bullet that's fired through the air, one that knocks Carl backwards, and the half hearted smile drops from his face, and horror dawns as they watch Carl fall, and Rick's screams fill the all too silent forest around them. 

-


End file.
